Lies That Wear the Crown
by kkolmakov
Summary: In the Goblin tunnels the company of Thorin Oakenshield picks up an unfortunate stowaway - a young boy, the only survivor from a company of fur merchants from Enedwaith. The boy has no choice but the join the quest in hopes to reach a settlement of Men. Instead, the journey will take our protagonist on the long odyssey full of peril, love, lust, deceit, and reparation.
1. Prologue

Thorin felt the pain bloom behind the broken ribs, and he gulped air with an open mouth. Another blow was coming, and he twisted his body protecting the sore side. The whip swooshed in the air, but it landed somewhere else. He hoped it wasn't one of the younglings who'd yelped from the slashing.

"Get'em, lads! The King ain't fancy waiting!"

The nearest goblin shoved him ahead, making Thorin stumble. He quickly threw a look behind him. Kili and Fili were somewhere out of sight. He saw Nori snarl at his assailant. Thorin could hear Dwalin growl and curse somewhere ahead.

"What's the catch today, mate?" another fiend barked.

"Dwarves, blimey! Can ye believe it?" The leader of the band that was dragging them along some dirty low passage spat under his feet. "Caught them on the front porch, heh! What's yours?"

"Some merchants from the Big Ones! Skint they were, and not much to nosh on."

Thorin peeked. The second group of goblins joined them now, dragging a few prisoners of their own. A few Men, from the South judging by the clothes, were led, their hands shackled in front of them.

"Mostly some old geezers and a few bairns," the leader of the second gang said derisively. "No good for no work, or fun."

"Stew then?" the first one suggested.

The second goblin chief grumbled something under his breath, and jerked a chain he had in his claws. An old man on the other end of the chain fell forward, and gave out a pained scream. A whip landed on his back immediately.

"I have something for you, though, Shagrot. A gift," the second chief said and pulled at the chain harder.

The captive man had no choice but to crawl closer to the two goblins. By then all of the creatures and the prisoners had stopped in a dimly lit passage.

"What's in this dog for me?" the one called Shagrot scoffed.

"Not the slug," the other goblin answered. "This one's mine, for games, you know. One of them Big Ones was actually putting up some fight. We cut his throat," the goblin dismissed, "But he left us a present. Thought you might care to look."

Out of his dirty ugly clober he pulled a long sword, in an unadorned but well-made scabbard.

"Care a look?" the goblin drew out seductively.

The one called Shagrot feigned disinterest, but it was obvious he couldn't tear his eyes off the blade that the other goblin had pulled out of the sheath now.

"See? Made by the horsemen, so it won't burn and sting," the one holding the sword continued his bargaining. "What say you, Shagrot? Care for a deal?"

"You said you has a _gift_ for me," Shagrot growled; but the other goblin only cackled.

"I say, we sit and have a small talk, heh, Shagrot?" The monster slowly swung the blade before Shagrot's face. "Come, come! Let's talk."

He hurried ahead, and Shagrot followed reluctantly. The goblin foot soldiers went after them, pushing and shouting, making their prisoners move ahead.

Thorin walked, his mind quickly going through possible escape routes. Now that the chiefs were preoccupied with their bargaining, the other goblins started immediately slacking. Less blows fell, and their procession stretched.

"Will you help us?"

Thorin heard a whisper and looked discreetly. The Rohirrim near him was grey-haired, half his face was covered in blood.

"We need to… to get out of here," the Man whispered. "We could do better if we join forces."

Thorin ignored the Man's words. He could see that the Men led by the goblins were no warriors. Clearly Shagrot and his men had killed the guards, and all who were left were merchants. There were three older men and a boy, perhaps an apprentice.

"Please, Master Dwarf, I beg you," the Man whispered frantically. "I can see by your weapons that—"

He didn't get to finish when a goblin closest to him slashed him under his knees.

"Shut yer hole, maggot!" the goblin barked.

They never got to the passage where Shagrot and his 'mate' were planning to stop and negotiate their dealings. A small hobbling goblin appeared from around the corner and shrieked at them that the King had been expecting them, and 'his malevolence didn't fancy the wait.' The sword was immediately forgotten; and whips flew and stung. Thorin and his men were herded like sheep; and he gritted his teeth. At some point the boy from the company of Men was near him, and stumbled, and fell into the dirt. Thorin glanced down and saw a pair of widened terrified eyes.

"Get up, lad," Balin muttered and jerked the boy up by his arm.

The boy said nothing but hurried ahead.

"What are we doing, laddie?" Balin asked Thorin in Khuzdul.

Thorin had no answer for him. Fighting their way out at the moment would be madness. There were too many of the detested creatures around. They needed a more favourable moment. A tad of help wouldn't harm either. Where was the cursed Wizard?!

The Wizard, as it turned out, wasn't far. As so was his sword. Even his cheap tricks served their purpose this time. And suddenly Thorin was running, following the lanky form ahead of him, praying to Mahal that those were indeed twelve pairs of Dwarven boots he could hear stomping behind him - and maybe even a pair of Hobbit feet.

The cursed beasts were everywhere! They jumped out of dark passages, from left and right, teeth bared and claws sharp. Their weapons, as crude and dull as they mostly were, still afflicted enough damage, and Thorin felt each inhale cut through his chest like a dozen daggers.

A small body smashed into him, from his right, from somewhere high, and he felt a blade land on the pauldron sewn into his brigandine. The goblin shrieked into his ear, and Thorin swirled trying to shake the filth off. The goblin gurgled, Fili's sword cutting in its neck; and Thorin pushed the corpse off himself.

And then a flicker of sunlight caught Thorin's gaze! Ahead of them, at the end of the narrow passage going up, there were tall gates, locked, with a dozen guards standing before - and Thorin shouted 'Baruk Khazâd!' His companions seemed to have realised that their chance to escape was close. The boots boomed on the floor, echo bounced between the wall - and they cut into the line of the guards.

When the loathsome Goblin King had met his demise at the hand of Gandalf the Grey, only three of the Men were close by, the fourth one lying dead in the throne hall. He had dared to speak up without being asked. When the gates flew open, only two of the Long Ones rushed out together with the Dwarves and the Wizard: the boy and the old man who'd been dragged on the end of Shagrot's chain.

Sunlight blinded them all. The fresh wind, smelling of the pines, seemed to knock the breath out of them; and some of them leaned against the tree trunk, some fell on the knees.

The old Man slid down along a tall pine with a groan. The boy rushed to him. Thorin noticed but immediately lost interest. He needed to make sure his company was safe.

The Wizard counted, and it turned out the Halfling was nowhere to be seen. The Wizard started his interrogation trying to find out who'd seen the Hobbit last when a desperate cry came from the Men.

"Master Dwarves, please help!"

The boy was kneeling in front of his companion, and Thorin saw a blood stain growing on the older man's doublet. Oin stepped to them.

"He's- Is he-"

The boy's voice broke; and Oin threw a quick look at Thorin and shook his head.

"Laddie, he needs some air," Oin said, and the boy took a few stumbling steps back.

Dori and Nori were arguing about who'd seen the Hobbit last in the goblin caves - and then a warg howl pierced the air.

"Maiar save us," the boy breathed out.

Only then Thorin noticed a sword in the lad's hand and blood dripping off the blade.

The Hobbit popped up from somewhere, but the Halfling's suddenly awaking burglar abilities were the least of Thorin's worries. The unmistakable howling of wargs was approaching, from the North East.

"Get up the tree!" Nori shouted and pushed the boy to the nearest pine.


	2. Stowaway

Bilbo stared at the ring of gold on his palm. It was strange how perfect it seemed to him, so flawless, so warm in colour. He willed himself to close his hand and to put it back in the waistcoat pocket - and then immediately pulled it out again. As little light as there was in the barn where the company had found shelter, the ring appeared to glimmer.

And then a small noise made him hastily hide the ring again. He peered into the darkness, and saw a small figure move stealthily along the wall.

* * *

"_Erebor, the Lonely Mountain," Gandalf pronounced solemnly. "The last great Dwarf kingdom in Middle Earth."_

"_Our home," Thorin exhaled._

_Bilbo couldn't tear his eyes off the outline of the mountain peak, as if etched against the crimson and orange clouds scattered on the sunset sky. A bird, chirping and tweeting, flew over their heads; and of course it was no raven, as Gloin assumed, but a thrash. Bilbo's heart rejoiced as the view of the familiar bird. He too, just as Thorin said, felt its appearance could be seen as a good omen._

_They all watched the tender warm light of the sun colour the horizon in deeper and richer tones for a few minutes, and then Thorin turned to the person they all seemed to have forgotten about._

"_And what would your name be, young man?"_

_The boy was sitting on the ground, still breathless and wide-eyed after their flight with the eagles._

"_Oi, laddie, are ye breathing?" Dwalin called to the young merchant._

"_Eo-" The boy croaked, and then cleared his throat. "Eoren, son of Leoran."_

_The boy looked ill, Bilbo noticed. Little could be distinguished under the layer of grime and Orc blood, but he was obviously pale, and tremours ran through his small frame. He was twisting his hands. His knees were pulled to his chest. _

"_Well, Master Eoren, you either get up and start marching with us, or you could stay and wait for the Orc scouts here," Thorin grumbled, already turning away from the boy._

_Bilbo felt a pang of pity towards the merchant. He couldn't be older than twelve Springs. _

_Balin seemed to share Bilbo's sentiment._

"_C'mon, laddie, let me-" he said and stretched his hand to Eoren._

_The boy winced away from him, wrapping his skinny arms around his middle._

_Thorin was already barking orders, and the Dwarves were picking up whatever bags and weapons they had had left after being plucked and carried like children's toys._

* * *

"Eoren," Bilbo hissed, and the boy jolted. He by then had one hand on the large knocker of the barn gate.

"Where do you think you're going?" Bilbo asked, trying to sound stern.

"Please, Master Hobbit, I need- I need to go," the boy said weakly.

Bilbo thought that if the wind outside blew even half as strongly as before, the boy would simply fall over.

"There is nowhere to go!" Bilbo asserted, keeping his voice down. "There are Orcs there! And the beast!"

"I can't… can't stay here. It's not… safe for me," the boy muttered, and grabbed to the handle with the second hand.

"What's not safe? Gandalf said we could stay the night here." Bilbo rose and started tiptoeing towards the Man. "You can't go outside!"

"I… I need to-" The boy's voice broke, and Bilbo saw how Eoren's lips twisted.

Bilbo's nose twitched in his usual nervous tick. He had a quite slight idea how to comfort a child who'd just lost all his companions and was now stuck in a terrifyingly massive barn surrounded by snoring Dwarves and gigantic farm animals.

He edged towards the boy, and slowly touched his shoulder. It wasn't hard to reach, the boy was short for a Man, probably due to the malnourishment in the younger years.

"There, there," Bilbo muttered awkwardly. "Come, sit with me."

He patted the bony shoulder again, and the boy sobbed quietly. Bilbo gave the shaking angular shoulder another pat, and then softly pushed the boy towards the haystack Bilbo had been occupying before.

The boy stumbled ahead and then plopped onto the straw listlessly.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Eoren," Bilbo said, sitting near the boy. "Were those merchants your relations?"

Eoren nodded and wiped the tears, drawing streaks on his dirty face.

"An uncle. And two cousins," he whispered. "The man who died near the pines, that was my uncle. I have no… no more family left."

Bilbo couldn't imagine what it felt like, to have no relatives left in the world. He thought back at the hundreds of annoying, overbearing, ever-present Bagginses and Tooks and Brandybucks - and he felt ever so homesick.

"And where is your home, Eoren?" Bilbo asked softly.

The boy looked lost for a moment, and then two fresh tears ran down his cheeks.

"Nowhere. We lived in Enedwaith before, but my kin decided to move their trade. They sell furs… But the journey to Rohan became unsafe in the latest years. The previous company didn't come back from the Fords of Isen. They'd been travelling to Westfold, my step-brothers had been with them… and they didn't come back."

The boy dropped his face into his palms, and his body shook in silent sobs. Bilbo couldn't think of anything better than to pat Eoren's shoulder again.

"But perhaps you have some distant relations somewhere?" he asked hopefully.

The boy shook his head without lifting his face.

"Then you should stay with us, until we reach a settlement of Men," Bilbo said. "There is no use to just run out right now, like a chicken with a chopped off head. What's the point of getting killed or eaten out there? Here, with us, you have a chance."

A small one rather, Bilbo added to himself.

"We have a Wizard," Bilbo continued. "And Thorin and his companion are renown warriors-"

"But I just can't stay!" the boy hissed, jerking his face up. "My uncle told me- I was taught to-" The boy didn't finish, and hid behind his hands again.

"To what?" Bilbo asked confused.

"Oi, you two, enough blathering!" Dwalin growled from his haystack, and a few more Dwarves grumbled and complained from their spots.

Eoren threw them a terrified look. Bilbo shook his head in befuddlement. What could the boy have been taught that made him more scared of the Dwarves than the perils outside their current shelter's fence? There was of course mistrust and even animosity among the peoples of Middle Earth. Bilbo himself had had quite a low opinion of Dwarves, before he had gotten accustomed to his current companions. He knew little of Men, except of what was known of the Bree folk, which was hardly flattering. But none daunted him as much as the Dwarves did the boy.

Bilbo was intending to investigate further, perhaps in a softer voice this time, but Eoren already had moved away from him and was sitting by the further wall, his knees once again pulled to his noise. The ball the poor youngling had curled into was indeed tiny - and, speaking frankly, pathetic. Bilbo sighed. He just hoped that the low howling that was coming from afar, somewhere beyond the walls of the queer dwelling, would convince the boy to reconsider his attempts to flee.

* * *

"What do you want?" the bearman growled, and Bilbo pressed his head down into his shoulders.

Himself and Eoren, whom Gandalf had ushered out with him to 'greet their host,' were still hidden behind the Wizard's lanky body, but Bilbo knew they were soon to be discovered.

Gandalf continued to weave his pleasantries, when the aforementioned discovery took place.

"A Wizard, a Halfling, and a child of Men? How come you here?" the Skinchanger scoffed.

Gandalf laughed nervously and started his introductions. Bilbo squared his shoulders and tried to look as 'of unimpeachable reputation' as possible. Then it was Eoren's turn, and Gandalf had just started on the story of the merchants 'unfortunate to encounter the Goblins in the mountains,' when their unwilling host interrupted him.

"What did you go near the Goblins for? Stupid thing to do!"

Gandalf muttered in agreement - and then Bilbo heard the stomping of the Dwarven boots on the large steps of the Skinchanger's front porch. Bilbo felt Eoren grab his hand and squeeze it desperately.

The comic drama of more and more Dwarves popping up continued until all their company was on display, with Thorin stepping out last. Only when the Skinchanger bared his teeth and then growled at them to step inside, Eoren stopped trying to break Bilbo's knuckles. Bilbo discreetly rubbed the aching fingers to where his jacket pocket used to be. It had been torn long ago, in the caves under the Misty Mountains.

* * *

The boy had been sitting in the corner of the room, on the floor, having snatched a bowl of food from the table and having scuttered into the shade in small shuffling steps. In the middle of the alarming discussion of the dangers that awaited them in the Mirkwood, his breaking voice suddenly rose above the rumbling of the Skinchanger.

"There's a city of Men on that lake. There… On the Long Lake. Isn't there-" He shied away from his own words, ringing in the sudden silence.

Bilbo wondered if everyone was now staring at him because they simply had forgotten about the unfortunate stowaway on their journey.

"There is indeed," Gandalf said and gave the boy a mysterious squinted look.

Since such was his usual manner, Bilbo paid no heed to it.

"Could I- Could I continue travelling with you there-" The boy once again grew silent, but then he inhaled noisily and squared his shoulders. His gaze fell on Thorin, and Bilbo saw the Dwarf meet the boy's eyes. "My lord, allow me to continue travelling with you till I reach a settlement of Men."

Thorin seemed indifferent and simply nodded. Bilbo thought that the Dwarf weren't so uppity he'd have shrugged instead.

The boy was immediately forgotten again, and the Wizard and the Skinchanger went back to the discussion of the native inhabitants of Mirkwood. Bilbo turned away from the boy who was sitting, his eyes lowered to his plate. The news of an enchanted river and the apparent illusions that they were in danger of encountering were indeed more captivating than the view of the boy's dirty disheveled hair.


	3. Truth Unbound

**Author's Note:**

**Oh you, guys! There's no surprising you! Or is it that I'm just repetitive and predictable?! *terrified gasp of realisation* :D**

**Please, read the answers to your reviews and an author's note with a question after the chapter!**

**Love you,**

**K.**

* * *

They released the Skinchanger's ponies when all of a sudden the Wizard announced that he was leaving them. Thorin felt Balin's concerned eyes on himself, and he scoffed. The old man worried too much. They could handle the cursed woods without the meddling Wizard.

They stepped under the heavy low canopy of the dark red leaves, and immediately as if a weight pressed onto their chests. It was neither night, nor day under the tall trees; and the haze seemed to seep into their skin, making their gear and weapons seem thrice as heavy.

They only started walking, peering under their feet, not to lose the path, when the boy stumbled and fell, on all four. Thorin stepped to the lad and heard how laboured the boy's breathing was.

"I can… walk, I just…" the youngling rasped out and scampered to rise.

Thorin firmly picked him up under his arm and pulled him onto his feet.

"No one is leaving you behind, lad," he grumbled good-naturedly, and saw the boy's eyes widen in bewilderment.

Thorin smirked and patted the boy's shoulder.

The Skinchanger had given the Rohirrim some scraps of cloth to wrap into, all of his clobber obviously too big for the boy's scrawny frame. The lad was now carrying a waterbag and a coil of rope, and even as much seemed to weigh him to the ground, making him slouch. Thorin slightly shook his head. He could just see how soon enough the boy's load would have to be shared between others.

It wasn't the boy's haul they ended up carrying, but the boy himself. It was all the Hobbit's fault. He had been sent to find a way across the river; and instead of scouting a bridge or finding vines strong enough to use as supports, the Halfling muttered and crawled around like an insect. By then most of them were wan and unhinged. Bofur was the first one to lose his footing, Fili caught him; but then the branch that Bombur held to gave in. His body heavily rolled into the river, taking the Halfling and the boy with him.

The Hobbit hung, his furry feet dangling in the air. The Rohirrim's arms weren't that strong.

With a loud splash he landed into the water near the bank, a short scream came, and then a pained groan.

Fili was near him in an instant. For a few seconds he had to hang above the river, like a spider, to fish the lad out by his shirt. By then both Bombur and the boy seemed fast asleep.

"He's bleeding!" Fili cried out; and Thorin looked.

The stole from the Skinchanger's store was soaked and had slipped off the boy's body, revealing a red stain spreading on the boy's tunic.

"Let me see," Oin muttered and squatted near the boy.

He opened the belt, unclasped the long vest, and hitched up the two tunics on the boy's middle. Thorin saw pale skin and a messy wound.

"It's an older injury, from the caves probably." Oin shook his head. "Dimwitted bairn. No wonder he couldn't walk properly. Just look-"

Words stuck in Oin's throat. Thorin had none either. While the wound looked bad, infected and black bloodied, it was the chest binds that made Thorin spit a swearing in Khuzdul.

"How is the-" Balin asked approaching and then froze as well. "Well, Mahal be merciful, that _is_ a surprise."

"What is?" Kili called from the bank, curious as ever. He sounded out of breath, after helping Bofur and Bifur to drag Bombur out of the water.

"It's a girl!" Fili exclaimed, and Kili jerkily straightened up.

A dull thud of Bombur's boots on the silt of the river bank announced that Kili had dropped his end of the cargo. Bifur grumbled in Khuzdul, and then let go of the head as well. Thorin agreed with them. Bombur was really not the priority at the moment, as long as he was out of the immediate danger of drowning.

"A maiden or not, I still need to address the wound," Oin muttered and opened his sack.

Thorin turned away from the healer and his ward, preserving the girl's modesty. Others followed his example.

"All things considered," Balin started, and Thorin met his eyes. The old Dwarf suddenly chuckled. "All things considered, we are lucky it was him- her who fell in the river. We'll have our hands full carrying Bombur. She'll be as light as a feather."

Thorin shook his head again. Balin was right after all, and really, what did it matter whether the bairn was a boy or a girl? It's her wounds that worried Thorin. Uninvited as she was, she was now part of the company. And something told him the woods were the last place where one would want to linger.

"Shall we start on the stretchers?" Balin asked, his voice still unfittingly entertained; and Dwalin cursed, mentioning Bombur's size and appetite in unfavourable terms.

"We should have rest first," Thorin said, and heavily sat on the nearest root. "Oin needs to finish with the lad- The lady, I mean."

Balin's chuckles were contagious, and Thorin hid a smile in his beard. It was surely the tiredness and the absurdity of discovering they had been harbouring a maiden among them that were causing this odd mood.

"So I gather her name isn't Eoren," the Halfling suddenly said in a pensive tone. "That is quite unfortunate. How are we to address the lady now?"

The Hobbit's untimely concern with decorum and social niceties was Thorin's undoing, and he burst in a short bout of laughter, which was met with Balin's chortles and everyone else's disbelieving looks.

* * *

She had been coming out of it and falling back asleep for about half an hour by the time it was Thorin's turn to carry her. She truly weighed nothing. He had to say he much preferred this consignment to one of the ends of Bombur's stretches. Fili had given up his coat to cover her, and all Thorin could see was the pale narrow face sticking from under the fur collar.

She kept muttering something quietly in a throaty language, probably her native tongue. From time to time she seemed to switch to one of the Elven tongues, and sometimes Common Speech. In Westron she mostly seemed to be going through some stores and registers. He wondered if she had been a scribe or a bookkeeper before she'd ventured on that unfortunate trip through the Isen Fords.

The further they walked, the harder it was to breathe. The fallen leaves were slimy under their feet, and the air seemed to now stick to the backs of their throats and as if to clog their lungs. Another hour passed, and Thorin passed his cargo to Dori.

"No, my lady, you can't!"

Thorin heard Nori behind him, and he turned. His head spun, and the landscape around him - if one could call this loathsome theatre of shadows such - seemed to have moved slower that Thorin's gaze, as if his mind wasn't fast enough to catch up with his vision.

"I'm no lady," the girl protested weakly. "I can't burden you anymore, Master Nori, and-"

Thorin fell behind and measured his steps to Nori's.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

The girl threw him a scared look. She was awake now, but her face was ashen and he could see that she was languid.

"Lady Eorwyn-"

"I'm no lady," she protested again, and Nori shushed her like a child.

"Lady Eorwyn wants to walk on her own, and I'm telling her it's no trouble at all. And Oin said she needs to be carried."

The girl opened her mouth again, but shrank under Thorin's gaze. Thorin studied her face, and some sort of a nervous twitch ran her features.

"Carrying you gets him out of the duty of carrying Bombur," Thorin said, and it took her a few seconds to catch his meaning. "Don't deprive him of this excuse," he added conspiratorially, and she gave out a shocked little noise.

He smirked and a small shadow of smile finally graced her lips. Thorin gave Nori a small nod and hurried ahead.

Another hour later her body once again lay in his arms.

"No, no, this is really-" she immediately started muttering, and even jerked her hand towards Nori.

Thorin suddenly imagined how she would sink her nails into the Dwarf's coat, like a cat. Some sort of hysterical amusement made him meet her eyes. She was now stiff and still in his arms. It felt like carrying a pile of those small branches they picked up to start their campfires.

"You're a king," she whispered. "You aren't supposed to-"

"I _am_ a king. So I get to decide what I'm supposed and not supposed to do," he said, his voice curt, mostly from how hard he tried not to slip on the small mushrooms hiding in the dead foliage under his feet.

She immediately grew quiet, just her giant eyes were roaming his face. They were of bright green colour, sunken, and red-rimmed. She looked utterly unwell, to think of it. Oin had estimated that she'd lost a lot of blood and had been burning for hours before she collapsed in the river.

After about a quarter of hour spent in silent walking, Thorin peeked and saw that her eyes were closed.

"So, this is your name then," he said. "Eorwyn."

Her lashes fluttered, and the lids slowly rose. Her eyes were clouded.

"It is. Or perhaps not," she then added, her words slurred. "That's the name my uncle gave me. But… He's not actually my uncle, so maybe… he was wrong… It's hard, when you don't know who you are… what you are..."

He could see that she was muddled.

"Do you- Do you know?" she asked insistently.

"Aye, I do," he answered.

"And I… I don't. My whole family is dead now, even my stepbrothers. Although they hated me, so maybe they weren't my brothers… And he's dead too now..." She frowned, as if trying to focus. "He's dead, and no one will know what he'd done to me. I'm safe now. Except..." One of her hands snaked from under Fili's coat and she rubbed her eyes. "Except I don't feel safe."

"That just shows you aren't daft. No one is safe in these woods," Thorin said, and she scrutinised his face.

"I'm safe with you though. And others… Maybe I _am_ dim. My uncle told me what happens when… if men find out… that I'm..." She brushed her weak hand to her chest. "What I am. And he said men would try what that man had tried..."

She shook her head, to chase away the drowsiness perhaps, but her eyes rolled back. Thorin shifted her body, so that her head lay on his shoulder. Her brow felt scorching against his neck.

"Oin, I think she's worse," he called behind him.

"Just let her sleep," the healer answered. "There isn't much we can do for her now."

In her sleep she grasped the collar of his coat, her fingers curled into the fur. Her breaths were short and uneven, but after some time she seemed to have fallen into a deeper, more restful slumber.

* * *

When she returned into his care two hours later she was awake again. Her expression was sober now, she just looked wearied.

She gave him an apologetic smile, but didn't argue when he picked her up from Fili's arms.

"Thank you," she said quietly, and he gave her a nod.

They were silent for a while, and then she sighed discreetly.

"Was it more entertaining to be carried by my sister-sons?" he asked nonchalantly; and she jerked in his arms.

"No, no, of course not," she of course rushed to reassure, but then she pressed her lips. "You're flustering me on purpose."

"Quite possibly," he said and looked at her from under a raised eyebrow.

She had her teeth sunk into her bottom lip.

"Well, you could make it more entertaining. We could converse," she offered in a tentatively playful tone. "Kili had been telling me of what he's intending to eat as soon as we're out of these woods. I believe mutton and rutabaga stew had been mentioned, and fresh bread, and-"

"I think that's quite enough of such talk," Thorin interrupted and gave her a feigned stern look.

She didn't shy away immediately, which told him she was starting to understand his tones better. She blinked a few times, and then gave him a shy smile.

"Does the talk make you even hungrier?"

"I'm starved," he answered, and she gave out a hardly audible laugh.

"I think you all are. Your kin are quite fond of eating, aren't you?"

"Aren't you?" he asked.

"I don't ever remember having enough in our household to fully sate everyone. I have always been the one giving up my share to the bairns in the family. I really do need very little," she hurriedly added.

"No wonder you're so light," he said.

"Shall we talk of something else then?" she offered.

He could see that she was trying to keep her head upright, but it kept heavily falling on one side. He shifted his hands and tilted her, making her lean into him. She made a quiet noise in her throat but stopped resisting.

"What subjects interest you?" he asked.

Her short hair was tickling his neck. It wasn't unpleasant.

"Books. Languages. Arithmetics," she answered readily.

He hummed as if in disdain.

"Not your cup of tea, I see," she said, and he gave her an amused look. She was now pressing her lips harder, suppressing a smile.

"You're quite an insolent child," he shared his observation.

"I'm not a child," she said, but then a shadow ran her face.

"I'm two hundred years old," he said and gave her a comforting smile. "Even if you've crossed into the second half of your life, you're still a child to me. And you're definitely an insolent one. Why hadn't you told us you were injured?"

"I didn't want to-"

"Burden us, aye," he finished for her.

She bashfully looked aside.

"You're part of the company now. We can't have you die on us in the middle of the acursed forest."

"That is very… kind of you." She sounded choked.

He peeked and saw tears in her eyes.

"You haven't encountered many Dwarves in your life, have you?" he asked, and she shook her head and sniffled loudly.

"And something tells me the Men you had encountered-"

He didn't get to finish his question. Something loudly cracked above his head. He whipped his head up and the last thing he saw - before the world grew black - was a multitude of pairs of terrifying beady eyes, and long furry legs moving so fast that they were nothing but a blur.

* * *

**Thank you all for following and reviewing the story! It's so nice to see all of you again! :3**

**Child of Dreams: Do I detect displeasure in your tone? :P Would you rather see someone else in Thorin's arms? :D**

**Memo****: Well, where is the fun in coming up with the plot twists I haven't used before if you just guess everything right away?! Hahahaha!**

**And now the question/author's note:**

**I have initially planned to have two female protagonists in this story. One you've already met; another will appear much later, after Erebor is reclaimed, and I'm intending to give Thorin a difficult choice to make: a girl he'd saved in the Goblin tunnels, and... Well, no spoilers! So, my question is: would you like to see both of them completely new? No Wren whatsoever? Wren as one of them? Eventually, of course, I'll have to write what the Muse whispers in my ear but I'm curious what you guys are thinking.**

**Thank you again for being such loyal Thorinettes! :D Hope you have fun with this story!**

**Love,**

**K.**


	4. Thranduil's Dungeons

"Search them!" the Elf commanded, and Thorin stepped between Eorwyn's unmoving shape and the pointy eared filth.

Fili joined him, a sword in each hand.

"Our companion is wounded," the ever-so-reasonable Balin pronounced from behind Thorin. "And it's a lady. Searching her would be… inconsiderate."

"You touch her, you lose a hand," Dwalin translated, and Thorin smirked darkly.

"Medical help will be given to your companion," a female red-haired Elf said, her eyes quickly running Eorwyn. "Surrender your weapons, and one of you can stay unbound to carry… her."

Thorin silently pushed Orcrist in the hands of the abominable blond leader of the Elves, and picked up Eorwyn from the ground. After the encounter with the spiders, she seemed to hardly breathe. Her skin had gained a sickly green tinge. They needed to hurry.

"Eorwyn," he called, but she didn't stir.

He could see her eyes move under the almost translucent lids.

The Dwarves followed his example; and the axes and swords travelled into the Elves' possession. The fiends tied his companions' wrists and led them like kettle. Dwalin was grumbling the loudest; but neither of the Dwarves protested. At some point the Hobbit called after Thorin.

"How is she?"

Thorin silently shook his head. He was no healer but he could see the girl was slipping away. Her chest hardly rose, her breaths were uneven, all colour gone from her face.

They entered the Elf dwelling, across a narrow bridge, and then down and down caverns and passages. Despite being an underground dweller himself Thorin looked around with disgust. The walls and ceiling reminded him of insides of some monstrous beast, as if they were walking in its cavity with its rib cage around them, the stone around porous, as if viscid, not a single straight line in sight.

They were herded into the city's dungeons located on yet another series of platforms with no railing, hanging over a terrifying abyss. Either the wastrels all had perfect balance; so that was their way of weeding out the weak in their litter.

"Give her to me," the same red-haired Elf addressed him. "I'll take her to a healer."

Thorin scowled. The anger and stubbornness rose in him, the same ones he felt when he was asked to pass the map of Erebor into the hands of the previous Elf who wanted to meddle into his business. Except this time he had little choice. As good of a healer as Oin was, he had no supplies. On the other hand, it was a child unconscious in Thorin's arms, not a piece of parchment.

"Either treat her here, or I go with her," he said firmly.

The redhead and the blond imp exchanged looks.

"But hurry," Thorin added. "Or you'll be having a child's funeral here in the Halls of King Thranduil."

* * *

The blond stayed behind while the redhead led Thorin through yet another passage. Two foot soldiers walked behind him. Thorin glared at them but said nothing.

They reached some sort of a round room, with a spiral staircase in the centre. The Elf started climbing up, Thorin followed. Soon he felt his knees shake, from the strain of climbing steps too high for him, from the long hunger, and the residual spider venom coursing his blood. The cursed stairs seemed to have no end!

And then finally they stepped into a large balcony, looking over the underground city with its eerie lights and multitude of waterfalls.

An Elf stood by the wall, near a tall bookshelf, his fingers running the spines of large volumes. He had the same copper hair as the most of them here. He looked older than the guards but it was hard to tell with the imps.

"Master Findir," the Elf maiden called to him; and the man turned.

He had a long cold face, with pale blue eyes, and an haughty line of thin lips.

"We have apprehended some intruders in the Western grove. They have a wounded child among them," the Elf continued.

"She was wounded days ago. She hid her injuries, and-" Thorin was interrupted by the man's dismissive wave of the hand.

"Follow me," he said and marched through the door in the opposite wall of the balcony.

Thorin followed. What choice did he have? In the next chamber he saw two cots, separated by a curtain, each had a small bedside table near it. Everything seemed pristine. The man, clearly a healer, pointed at one of the beds and walked to a shelf near a wall. He took out a large wooden crate and placed it on the table near the girl's cot. He then went to the opposite wall and started washing his hands in a basin near it. Thorin once again had no other choice but to obey. He carefully placed Eorwyn's limp body on the cot.

"You can leave now," the healer said without turning around.

"I need to know how she fares. She is my... responsibility. I have the duty of care." Thorin gave the Elf a glare. "I demand to be allowed to stay."

The healer dried his hands on a cloth, carefully folded it, and and came up to Eorwyn on the bed.

"You will be of no help," the Elf said.

He took out a pair of scissors and started cutting the clothing on the girl's body. Thorin looked aside.

"But I can see you are distressed," the Elf said in the same unemotional voice. "You can stay behind the curtain."

Thorin nodded expressing his gratitude but he doubted the Elf noticed - or cared. Thorin walked behind the curtain, and the three Elf guards followed. He could see the shadow of the healer dance on the curtain. Suddenly Thorin felt light-headed; and he heavily leaned against the cot. There was no way he would sit and show the weakness before the Elves. Neither would he be able to preserve his dignity if he tried to hop onto the bed, it was too high.

"How is she?" he raised his voice.

"The wound is old and infected. But I can see efforts had been made to alleviate her suffering and her ailment. My compliments to your healer."

Thorin was starting to appreciate the Elf's even tone, since his words bore no offence.

"She will recover soon. But she will require lots of rest and rich nourishment," the Elf added.

Thorin exhaled a relieved breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"I am confident to say that even before the wound the maiden was hardly healthy and strong." Some faint emotion coloured the Elf's voice. "Although the scars are old, the abuse she'd sustained in the past was substantial."

Thorin tensed. He had no obligation to explain that they had only encountered the poor child a few days ago; yet he was sure he had heard judgement in the healer's tone.

"She wanted to go to Laketown," Thorin said in a low voice. "Will she be allowed?" He now addressed the redhead, who was probably the captain of the guard. "Your King has no grievance with her. She was just an accidental travel companion for us. Whatever is prepared for us has nothing to do with her."

"King Thranduil will look into her case," the redhead answered, and Thorin gritted his teeth.

"But if she's not ordered to stay here, I will make sure she arrives at Laketown safely once she's recovered," the woman added in a quiet voice; and Thorin looked up and met her eyes.

She withstood his scrutiny, and he nodded.

"She's just a child." The words burst out of him without his will, and he felt irritated with himself. He had nothing to explain!

"I will take you back to the cells," the woman said. Her voice sounded softer now.

"If he can stay for a while longer, he'll be able to see her before he goes," the healer said from behind the curtain.

"Would you like to wait?" the redhead asked, and Thorin nodded again.

He had to do his best by his unintended ward in the given circumstances.

When the healer called him, he stepped around the curtain. The girl lay on the bed, covered to her chin with some silk sheet. She was just as pale, but the unhealthy tone to her skin was gone. Thorin could see her chest rise evenly.

"She will sleep now," the healer said. "I will send someone down to you to let you know when she comes around."

The man still sounded aloof, but Thorin appreciated the consideration.

"Thank you." Thorin let all his fierce gratitude be heard in his words.

"What is her name?" the Elf asked. He was now cleaning and putting away his tools.

"She said it was Eorwyn," Thorin answered.

He threw the last glance at the girl's angular features and turned to the guard captain.

"I'm ready."

* * *

In his cell he stepped to the back wall where he couldn't be seen by the guards patrolling the passages above, and he slid down the wall onto the floor. They had taken his overcoat, but even the tunic left on him felt restricting and heavy. Food was placed on the cot but suddenly he felt no hunger. To sit on the cot also meant to be observed. He closed his eyes and slowly exhaled.

'Stay here if you will and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an Elf.'

The words of the cursed Elf rang in his head. His mind frantically worked through their options; and it seemed to him that except for the possibly half competent burglar of a Hobbit they had... nothing.


	5. The First Goodbye

He didn't know how much time passed, but he assumed quite a few hours, since Dwalin had ran out of obscenities to roar at the guards - for the time being, that is - and Dori had stopped singing.

Some noise was heard above in the passages, a distant door was unlocked, and he heard approaching steps.

"Lady Eorwyn!" Kili's joyous voice rang, and Thorin lifted his face.

"Oh Master Kili, how many times-" She sounded weak, but merry. "Not a lady."

"How are you faring, my lady?" Balin chimed in from his cell.

Thorin heard more shuffling steps, and he rose and came up to his door. He looked but couldn't see the passage outside where she was.

"I'm better," she answered shyly. "Master Findir gave me some herbs, and-" She laughed bashfully. "And patched me up."

She finally walked around a curve of the cell wall, nodding and smiling to the Dwarves through their doors, and then stopped in front of Thorin's.

"My lord," she said and gave him an awkward bow.

He couldn't suppress a smile at her view. She was… clean. She was dressed in some sort of an Elven clobber, a long tunic and trousers, a thick quilt wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair turned out to be of warm golden colour. It was cut unevenly and short, and its strands curled in all directions, making it stand around her head like a small soft cloud.

"They treat me very well here," she said with a timid smile. "Do they… treat you well?"

She suddenly tilted her head and peeked into the cell behind his back. He couldn't hold back a chuckle.

"I'm a prisoner, my lady."

The two guards that stood behind her didn't move, but Thorin thought he saw humour in the eyes in the slits of the helmet.

"And you haven't touched your food," she said and straightened out. "I've had plenty, and I don't know what Dwarven food is like, but maybe-"

She met his eyes, and light blush spilled on her cheeks.

"Pardon me," she exhaled, and he laughed.

"You aren't wrong. We have been starved in those woods."

He stepped closer to the bars, and she moved towards him as if unconsciously.

"But I worry they try to poison us," he whispered conspiratorially, and she winced away from him.

She then threw a quick look at the Elf guards behind her and turned back to him. It took her a second to decipher his expression.

"You're teasing me again!" she exclaimed.

He smiled at her.

"I'm relieved you are treated well, my lady," he said warmly. "I have spoken to King Thranduil, and once you've regained your strength they will escort you to Laketown."

She nodded silently, and then it was her turn to take a small step towards the door. He approached it as well.

"And what about you?" she whispered.

He knew Elves had excellent hearing, but once again the guards behind her stood like statues.

"We still have matters to resolve with the Elvenking," he chose to be evasive.

He saw her bite her bottom lip. Her eyes were widened, and he seemed to see tears in them.

"Perhaps, we will join you in Laketown. Or even come there before you," he aimed to sound unconcerned.

"Will you?" she asked frowning. She didn't seem to believe him.

He smiled at her again and nodded.

One of the guard behind her shifted, and she immediately pressed her head down into her shoulders.

"I was told not to stay here long. Master Findir said I was to return to bed." Her voice was growing more and more shaky. "I don't know if they'll let me come down here again..."

She looked around her, this time definitely with tears in her eyes.

"I don't want to leave," she whispered without addressing anyone in particular.

"It's alright. You will see us soon," Thorin lied.

She dropped her head and then quickly wiped her eyes.

"I need to thank Master Oin. He saved my life," she murmured. She then looked up at him again. Her cheeks were wet. "I… I'm so very grateful for… your help. And I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused."

"You haven't. It was us who turned out to be bothersome companions. Look where we led you. Without us you'd have-"

"Died in the caves," she interrupted him, but then shied away. "Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive. Let us part our ways as friends."

He stretched his hand to her through the bars, and she gingerly lifted hers. He could see how much her fingers trembled. For a moment he thought she wouldn't gather enough courage - but her cold hand lay in his palm. He gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I will never forget the kindness your company showed me," she whispered.

"Get well," he answered. "And I wish you luck in the city of Men."

She held on to his fingers for a lingering moment - and then her hand dropped. Her shoulders stooped. She then jerkily turned around and started walking away. He could hear her thanking and goodbyeing as she passed the cells of other Dwarves.

Thorin sat down on the cot and closed his eyes.

* * *

He thought of their little ward only once after that. When days later, in the caverns of Erebor, they realised that the Wyrm had stormed out of the Great Gate to attack the town on the Lake, Thorin shortly hoped that the girl had still remained in the care of the Elves.

So many things happened thereupon that his thought never strayed to the fate of the child of Men again.

**End of Part I**


	6. On Pins and Needles

**Part II**

**Two moons later...**

Algun hurried across a courtyard, with a small wave to the familiar soldiers smoking in the corner, and quickly walked into the kitchen.

"Algun, I thought your shift was over," the chief shouted from her cauldrons.

Algun smiled at the Dwarf and found her path among the many boiling pots and Dwarves chopping, slicing, and plating.

"I am done for today. I was on my way to visit my Grandaunt in the infirmary, and I thought I could take the supper to the healers." Algun looked at the trays of bowls of venison stew and laughed. "Well, at least some of them."

"Thank you, _gultalut._" The Dwarrow dame exhaled through rounded lips and wiped her forehead with a large handkerchief. "We have fed the garrisons, but there are healers, and guards, and-" She waved her hand in annoyance with another huff. "Go, take at least one tray. And tell your Aunt I need to know the numbers for tomorrow," the healer called after Algun who had already headed for the door.

* * *

The infirmary had been established in the Lower Halls, closer to the now working Forges. The Upper Halls and many passages remained unheated.

Algun passed through the First Infirmary Halls. Greetings poured at her, from the warriors on the cots, having their evening meal. The ones with the lightest wounds and those well on the recovery had been put in these chambers.

Algun entered the healer's rooms, carefully balancing the tray, trying to keep the plates from clanking. The rooms were dark, healers slept on the bedrolls and the few cots that could be spared.

The next chamber was the study for Algun's Aunt and other leading healers in Erebor.

Several older healers stood in the centre of the room, arguing. Algun froze at the door, not sure how to proceed.

"... And I'm telling you, these are not simple burns! I think there is a malaise hiding under them, and we could have an infectious illness on our hands," one of the Dwarf spoke in a raised voice.

"What do you suggest then?" another answered angrily. "Should we just kill him off and bury him in the field near the edge of the woods? Make him the Elves' headache?"

"You're twisting my words!" the first one shouted. "All I'm saying-"

"I say we isolate him," Algun's Aunt said from the chair she was occupying.

The first healer gave her an irritated look. "And where do you propose we put him? In our study? We have no room for him! Not with his burns and the cold in the Halls!"

Algun's Aunt calmly puffed a ring of smoke.

"We move King Thorin," she answered nonchalantly.

This time most of the healers seemed taken aback by her words.

"Where to?" another healer said. "Just as Broin said, we have no other chambers. Shall we put the King of the Longbeards in an anteroom?"

"I don't think he'll mind," Aunt answered, exhaling another cloud of smoke.

The healers burst into grumbling and protesting.

"And I say we continue this discussion after some nosh." Algun's Aunt rose. "Your kind seems to be more agreeable once you eat."

"Our kind being the Longbeards?" one of the healers asked venomously.

"Your kind being males," Aunt answered as if asked about the weather, and Algun giggled.

"_Siginirak_," she greeted her Aunt with a bow.

"Come, child, I need peace while I eat. I can't afford indigestion," the dame grumbled picking up a bowl.

* * *

Algun followed her Aunt into one of the passages behind the infirmary. Many of them were blocked by rubble. Siginirak found a large boulder and sat down heavily.

Algun stood leaning against the wall. She held on as much as she could but curiosity won.

"Will you truly move the King into an anteroom?" she blurted out.

Siginirak continued chewing as if nothing was asked. Algun fixed a pointed stare at her Aunt's temple. Asking again would be disrespectful, but she had been indulged since the young age and knew how far she could take her insolent behaviours.

"I think we should. And I don't think he will turn all mighty and uppity on us. The man has some sense in him. _Some_," Siginirak repeated pointedly; and Algun snorted.

Her Aunt looked at her askance.

"But I assume it's not his sense you come to peek at in your frequent visits," she added.

Algun's first urge was to argue, but then she laughed and shook her head.

"I didn't think so," her Aunt said. "And neither do those two dozen of maidens snooping around my infirmary every day. Bursi's girls have been twice today. Given the older one's head can keep as much thought as an unhooped barrel can hold wine. But Vagna is a beauty, and their bloodline would suit the crown."

Algun shrugged.

"The King will choose whoever he chooses. He is not old, though," she added cheekily. "He won't be choosing by the bloodline only. And Vagna isn't known for a good temper."

"The girl is as prickly as a scared hedgehog. You should have heard her when I'd shooed her away from his room the other day." Siginirak chuckled.

"I hope he doesn't choose Vagna," Algun drew out. "We need a smart Queen. Reasonable. Someone to take care of her people in the days to come. They say it was hard in the Blue Mountains, but King Thorin's Mother was still alive then, and people got the aid they needed. If King Thorin marries someone like her..."

"She was of the Blacklocks as well," Siginirak pointed out seemingly absorbed in filling her pipe.

Algun nodded.

"She was! Only half Blacklocks, but nonetheless. Maybe King would choose someone from our clan as well. Imagine how beautiful their children would be."

Algun picked up a lock that had escaped from her do. She pulled and released the strand making it bounce. Algun loved her hair, raven black and glossy. She was proud of her heritage, even knowing how sometimes they were looked down at.

"Is that what the healer thought you mean by 'your kind?' Not a Blacklock?" she asked, and her Aunt shrugged.

"He's excellent at sewing axe wounds. His opinion on the clan questions is of no importance." The dame rose and stretched with a groan. "It's time I go visit the King. I doubt any of them chickens will dare raising the question. _I, _on the other hand, worry not for my position when the kingdom is restored, nor for the favours to gain for my children later."

"Why, Auntie?" Algun gave out a gasp of feigned shock. "Don't you want to sneakily push me closer to the King? In hopes he falls hopelessly in love with my black locks and my..."

Algun couldn't come up with anything else and giggled.

"Aye, the man is in real danger," the Aunt answered sarcastically.

Algun picked up her Aunt's bowl.

"I'll take your dish back to the kitchen. I still want to chat with Halda. She told me some fabric merchants had finally arrived."

* * *

A fortnight later Algun was hastily walking from the healers' rooms with a tray of dirty dishes in her hands when she heard a noise in one of the side passages. She knew it was one of those closed corridors, currently used for storing unused furniture.

Algun pushed the tray onto one of the trunks by the wall and walked into the corridor.

"Good evening, my lord," was all she could think of to say, while staring at the man sitting on a large chunk of a broken column.

"Evening," King Thorin answered. He sounded irritated.

"Is there… something you need?" Algun asked in a lost tone.

"A map?" the man grumbled back.

Algun's eyes boggled.

"Are you… lost?"

"No, fair maiden, I just enjoy sitting on a cold rock in some Mahal forgotten nook." The King pressed his lips in a thin line.

"Would you like me to help you to rise?" Algun dared a guess.

The man looked pale, paler than those two times when she'd managed the very peek her grandaunt had been teasing her about. Whatever the woman said, Algun was perhaps the least enthusiastic stalker of the King of Longbeards. She had dignity and some common sense after all, she'd like to hope.

White bandages peeked in the collar of the King's tunic. The doublet was unbuttoned, and he looked weary.

"I will require your help, but..." The King sighed. "In a few minutes."

Algun nodded. The King sat, leaning against the stone wall, head dropped back, eyes closed. Algun fretted internally.

"You're Algun, aren't you?" he suddenly asked, and she jumped up.

"You look just like your siginirak," he said. The man's eyes remained closed. "And she mentioned you. That you're a needlemaster."

Algun laughed awkwardly.

"I am. I'm the head of the Iron Hills' lodge of the Seamster Guild," she said with pride. "But I'm surprised my siginirak mentioned me. She thankfully doesn't boast about me."

"'Thankfully' because otherwise it would look like she's trying to marry you out well?" he asked and opened one eye. The iris was bright blue. "To a King even?"

Algun frowned.

"Exactly," she said firmly. "And I assure I'm not snooping around the infirmary in hopes to find me a good husband. I would have dressed differently if I were."

"Indeed." He now opened the second eye.

Algun had to admit the small smile playing on his lips were endlessly titilliating. As was the rest of him. King Thorin was one of the most attractive men Algun had ever seen in her life.

"I am a needlemaster! I can make myself an alluring dress out of a potato sack!" she sadly hotly.

The King chuckled, and the sound of the warm rumble in his throat made a small tingle run down her spine.

He studied her face, and she decided she had no choice but to let him. After all, she indeed wasn't snooping. All she could do was to stand and wait for when he was ready to accept her help.

"Your siginirak only spoke of you when a healer complimented her gambeson. There have been no matchmaking efforts," he said.

It was Algun's turn to scrutinise his face. Her search gave no result: she couldn't tell if he was jesting.

"And now give me your hand, fair maiden," he said. "I hope it's not just your fingers that have strength."

Algun stretched her hand to him, and he grasped it. Algun pulled and then offered him her shoulder for support. He was indeed heavy, but she didn't waver. Also, she now knew how soft his hair felt when brushing at her cheek.


	7. Made to Measure

After his unsuccessful attempt to 'wander off,' as Mistress Frotha called it, Thorin was once again incarcerated in his bed. To be honest, he had 'wandered off.' He just felt beyond irritated with being doted on, constantly asked how he was feeling, and poked and prodded with healer's tools. He just wanted to go and see Erebor with his own eyes, as opposed to reading renovations plans and signing payment decreeds.

Mistress Frotha had given him a sardonic look and asked, "So was your escape attempt worth the additional fortnight you'll have to spend in bed since you opened your stitches, my lord?"

He was surprised himself at how little the woman's impertinence irked him. It perhaps had something to do with the respect he felt for the experienced and confident Matron. Or, as he jokingly said to himself, with how much she looked like his 'saviour.' The two women had the same heart-shaped face, dark brown eyes, and in her youth the healer had probably had the raven locks of her clan. The seamstress had hers braided and arranged around her head in an elegant do, and Thorin would smirk remembering the righteous indignation with which she'd met his hints.

So, here he was again, on the cot, in the former chief healer's study. Papers heaped on the side table, and it seemed that a knock from a new visitor came to his door every minute.

He ate while reading parchments; he talked while someone changed his bandages; he often fell asleep with yet another map under his cheek. He needed to recover and be the King his people needed. Bedrest angered him, but he learnt his lesson and tried to be patient.

* * *

"Do you think it's time for you to meet with him?" Balin asked once again, and Thorin sighed.

"You can deal with the Bargeman," he grumbled and went back to reading the plans and quotas prepared by the engineers.

"He's not a bargeman. He's the King of Men. And unless an illness befalls him, from the malnourishment and the cold his people are suffering from currently, he will remain the King of Men for years to come. Soon, we will have to start the trade between our cities, and-"

Thorin lifted his eyes off the parchment and gave the Dwarf a pointed look making Balin stop.

"Which, of course, is all well known to you," Balin said; and Thorin sighed and put the document aside.

"I'm in bed, Balin. Outwardly weak. Bandaged. I have no desire to show this to the Bargeman."

"Perhaps you need… better clothes," Balin suggested, and Thorin barked a bitter laugh.

"I doubt a new doublet will rectify this." He gestured around his bandaged chest.

"A new doublet, _and _a visit of a barber, and some jewellery from the riches of Erebor... might," Balin insisted. "You need..." He searched for a word. "More splendour."

Thorin gave him a skeptical look - but then a thought came.

"The grandniece of that hag, the healer? Isn't she a seamstress?"

"Ah, indeed! And a famous one too. They nicknamed her _Ubkhabukh, _'Fine Stitches.' All court in Iron Hills is dressed by her."

"What is she doing washing dishes in the kitchens here then?" Thorin asked.

He should have bitten his tongue, he immediately realised. The old man had a preternatural perceptiveness when it came to matters that he had nothing to do with.

"Is that the same grandniece that helped you back to your room the other day?" Balin asked, squinting in that irritating manner of his.

"I know not. Maybe." Thorin kept his tone nonchalant.

Balin hummed and glanced over his glasses in his usual know-it-all manner.

"Will you arrange it then?" Thorin grumbled and hid behind the parchment again.

He could hear the old man chuckling. Thorin thought of the girl's pointy chin jerked up defiantly and the dark eyes and the bright pink lips, and decided that withstanding Balin's hints and amused looks might be worth it.

* * *

She came with two other Dwarrow dames, each carrying a few rolls of fabric. Bustle filled his room, and he sat on the bed wondering why he had thought it was a good idea.

He had arranged a bath, the said visit of a barber, and a beardmaster earlier. His hair was brushed, oiled, and braided, and so was his beard. And then she stepped to him with a measuring ribbon - and he felt relieved he had made the effort.

"Could my lord rise?" she asked in a business like tone.

"He could try," he answered with a chuckle.

He did, hoping his knees didn't give in. She stepped closer, and her arms went around him. The 'embrace' was short. He stared at the glossy black hair on top of her head and breathed in the delicate smell of her perfume oils. She pronounced some numbers, which one of her associates wrote down. She then winced back, the ribbon moved, this time around his waist, and she called more numbers. His arms were measured, then the neck, and then she dropped on her knees, and her left hand hovered over his hip - and then brushed to his thigh.

"Pardon, my lord," she muttered absent-mindedly.

She then rose, and the assistant handed her the parchment with his measurements. She frowned studying it.

"Will I live?" he whispered leaning closer to her, and her gaze flew up to his face.

He delighted at the widened eyes, dark and deep, with long black lashes framing them. She had a turn-up nose and milk white perfect skin. She gave him a surprised look and then snickered.

"Not just live. You'll _dazzle_."

It was his turn to laugh.

"I don't think I've ever striven for such effect," he said.

"And yet you succeed."

She quickly walked away, towards the table with the fabric samples.

He sat down, his eyes following her. Merriment bubbled in his mind. She was discussing something with her assistants. Thorin tilted his head enjoying the view of her proud set head and the alluring round shoulders. She clearly knew he was watching her, since he could see light blush powder her neck and the charming small ears. Balin cleared his throat, and Thorin tore his eyes off her.

"Exquisitely beautiful they are, aren't they?" Balin asked.

Thorin gave him an exasperated look.

"The fabrics?" he asked venomously.

"The blonde one is the granddaughter of my sisterson twice removed," Balin said pointedly.

"Indeed?"

Thorin hadn't noticed the blonde. She had been the one taking notes previously. She was lovely, he had to admit, now that he'd had a good look. She was around the same age as the seamstress, full-bodied, her features soft, expression calm.

"Halda, daughter of Hir," Balin added.

"Why do I suspect I might find her ancestry scroll as if forgotten on my desk soon?" Thorin muttered, and then schooled his face into a polite expression.

"Could you rise again, my lord?" The raven haired maiden was back. "I have another measurement to take," she said holding up the ribbon again.

Thorin rose, with a theatrical groan.

"You're torturing an invalid, fair maiden," he said, and she laughed softly.

"It will all be worth it," she sing-songed.

"Promise?" he said and raised an eyebrow.

She shook her head, still laughing, and then the ribbon lay around his hips.

"I decided Erebor needs its own fad," she said.

"A fad?" he asked.

She was tantalisingly close. One glossy black lock curled on her right temple, and some unexpected urges stirred in him. His body ached; and it had been decades since an idle thought of caresses had come to his mind; but these days marriages and children seemed to be the only topic of everyone's conversations. At least, that was what he was planning to blame for his sudden preoccupation with the thought of picking up the lock and twisting it around his finger. And kissing the small ear, for that matter.

"Uh-huh." She beckoned her assistants with the fabric rolls and started pressing the ends to his chest. "Something only Erebor Khazad will be wearing. We need to stand out. I intend to become the pacesetter of the fashion in the North. And I say, we need a longer doublet!"

She made a florid wave with her hand in the air, and he guffawed.

"And if your 'fad' turns into an embarrassing blunder, you will make a fool out of the King of Longbeards," he said.

"But that is it, my lord. It won't turn into a blunder since it _is_ the King who will start it. We will help each other. I will ensure my place in Erebor's fashion. _You_ will - as promised - dazzle."

He guffawed again and made an inviting gesture with his hand.

"Help yourself, fair maiden. For the next moon no one will see the length of your fad anyway. I'm still bedridden. I just need the top half to… dazzle."

"And that you will," she said and lifted an end of a roll.

It was of dark blue colour, not exactly Durin's blue, and he saw silver threads woven into it in an intricate pattern.

"Dignified. Humble. Royal," she sing-songed, and then grinned widely.

"Whatever you say." He returned her smile.

* * *

When the seamstresses were done and left with a bow, Thorin heavily sat on the bed.

"Shall I tell Hir there is no point in sending you the scroll?" Balin asked in jest, and Thorin leaned back on the bed and closed his eyes.

"At this stage I'd make no good husband for anybody, Balin," he said and then smirked without opening his eyes. "But nay, no scrolls from your sisterson."

"Shall I speak with Mistress Frotha then?" Balin asked cheekily and laughed when Thorin shook his head. "I agree, the woman is daunting. Perhaps we should wait for Lady Dis' arrival."

Thorin groaned. As little peace as he saw these days, matters would grow tenfold worse when his sister arrived at Erebor.

"I'm much more concerned with the Bargeman and his Men at the moments than any scrolls that might fall onto my lap," Thorin said.

"They have been falling on your lap since the day you woke up, laddie. As soon as it became clear you might recover." Balin chuckled. "I've been piling them up in one of the backrooms. Would you like me to bring them out?"

"Why don't you peruse them yourself? And for Dwalin, while you're at it," Thorin offered sardonically. "I'm certain as soon as it is known the King has made his choice, you will be the next choicest bachelor."

He could feel Balin's gaze on himself, and after a few seconds Thorin opened one eye. The old Dwarf was watching him with a small smile.

"And _has _the King made his choice?"

"Obviously," Thorin drew out sarcastically. "In the few minutes I've spent in the maiden's company, without knowing anything about her and her family. Just because she smiled at me." Thorin scoffed. "I would spend more time choosing a pony for rent in an inn."

"And yet, I've never seen _you_ smile that much, laddie."

Balin patted Thorin's shoulder and walked out of the room. Thorin closed his eyes again and settled on the bed.

She did have a beautiful smile, open and confident, he thought. Still, there were matters of much greater importance and urgency to consider.


	8. The Second Hello

"King Bard is waiting to have his audience," Balin reminded Thorin for the third time, and Thorin gritted his teeth.

He could answer - yet again - that he just needed to finish reading this one debenture - but instead he just sighed and kept his eyes on the parchment.

"He claims he has finally brought those treaty drafts you'd requested," Balin droned in the background.

Thorin closed his eyes and invoked Mahal the Maker asking for patience.

"And he had brought a scribe," Balin added.

"Good," Thorin answered and continued reading.

"And when I went to greet our honourable visitor," Balin continued and then held a pause.

Thorin sighed again. He was almost done reading, but now he had trouble focusing. Balin's silence was pregnant.

Thorin lowered the parchment and gave the old Dwarf a purposeful expectant look.

"You'll see, I reckon, laddie," Balin said with a chuckle. "I only want you to brace yourself. And keep quiet."

The old man's riddles were hardly entertaining, and Thorin decided he might as well be done with all this nuisance faster. He put the papers aside and allowed his visitors.

The Bargeman stepped in. His attire was still unbecoming, some modest dark coat, no adornment, no jewels. He had three older men with him, familiar to Thorin by now. They were the elders from Esgaroth that Bard had chosen as his counsellors. Thorin looked at the fifth person in the company, and despite the lowered face and the attempts to hide behind the others he recognised her immediately.

"My lord," King Bard greeted him, making Thorin jerk and look away from Eorwyn.

"My lord," Thorin answered absent-mindedly.

She was dressed in the clothes similar to the Men. Her hair was even shorter now, but combed. She had a large ledger with her, and a scribe's trunk hung over her shoulder on a long strap. When the King and the counsellors sat down, she tucked herself behind a small desk by the wall, opened the trunk, and took out quills and ink bottles.

"This is Eoren, our new scribe. He's proficient in many languages," Bard said, probably having noticed Thorin's looks.

Thorin nodded as if disinterested and turned his attention to the discussion.

A few hours later after yet another shoal of documents had been looked through, rectified, argued about, and put aside for 'more consideration,' the Men rose to leave. Thorin felt the familiar pang of irritation that he couldn't follow the example. He would probably still make the Bargeman come to him for negotiations, since Thorin felt no desire to set foot into that swamp of a town again, and Dale wouldn't be restored any time soon. To sit in a large chair, preferably set on an elevated part of the room would be best, but he would agree on simply having a choice of rising to his feet.

Bows and goodbyes followed, and the Men left. Balin chuckled from his spot.

"What now?" Thorin grumbled.

"What a clever girl," the old man said and pointed at the scribe's trunk left under the desk.

A minute later a knock came to the door.

"Come in," Thorin said; and the girl edged into the room.

"Pardon, my lords, I seem to have misplaced my tools," she mumbled, and then firmly closed the door behind.

Only then she finally lifted her eyes at Thorin for the first time. Her gaze searched his face; and he smiled at her widely.

"My lady Eorwyn," he said, and a tentative smile fluttered on her lips. "Although, as I see, you still aren't a lady."

She laughed softly and stepped closer to his bed.

"Good day, my lord." She then turned to Balin. "My lord."

The old man grinned at her and stretched his hand. She took it, and Thorin saw Balin pat the back of her small palm with his other hand.

"It is such a relief to see you unscathed… Master Eoren," he said with another chuckle.

"I am well, thank you, my lord. The Elves made sure of it." She then turned to Thorin again. "I am so glad to see you both alive. And others? Has any of the company-" She didn't continue, and exhaled with relief when Thorin shook his head.

"All well. Some wounded, but Lord Thorin and Master Fili were the ones to sustain most injuries, and they are on the mend." Balin smiled at the girl again. "Have you faced the Battle?"

"No, no." She shook her head. "Master Findir, the Elven healer didn't allow me to leave at the time, only after the Battle. And then I just joined the Men in the camp. I'm staying there now, and then I'm hoping-"

She abruptly stopped her account. "I'm sorry, it's of no interest to you. I just wanted to thank you again for saving me." She looked between the two Dwarves. "And for not revealing the truth to King Bard and the Elders now."

"Do you wish to remain in disguise then?" Balin asked.

"Aye, I think it's the best. Considering my past and-" She once again didn't finish her thought. "If it is no trouble for you, could you please keep my secret henceforth as well?"

"The choice is yours," Balin said.

"Thank you."

Thorin saw light blush colour her cheeks. She looked healthier now, though just as lean. She looked like a fawn, thin and long-limbed. Her eyes shone with life, and Thorin smiled pleased. He had spared her no thought since he had seen her last, but it was joyful to know she was well and safe.

She bowed to both of them, took her trunk, and left.

Thorin quickly picked up a parchment from the bedside table to avoid Balin's habitual summation.

"She looked well," Balin started, and Thorin sighed.

Apparently a page from the store ledger he hid behind wasn't a sign clear enough that he wished no further idle discussion.

"We need to tell the others to keep their mouths shut about her true self, and-"

"Aye, aye. Could you send for my tray?" Thorin interrupted.

He didn't need to lower the page to know how misted the eyes of the old sentimental goat were right now. Thorin was happy to see the girl as well, of course; but now the question of their stowaway was resolved even more completely. There was nothing to discuss here.

Balin left, and Thorin threw the page aside and stretched on the bed, gritting his teeth. His wounds ached, and his head felt heavy. Perhaps a storm was coming.


	9. Tunics and Bottles

"How is my first creation serving you?" Algun asked.

The King still sat in the bed, but the bandages didn't peek from under his collar anymore. His movements were still stiff, she'd noticed when he'd been taking off the doublet.

"I couldn't tell," he answered. "It _sits_ well. But as for service..." he trailed away and gestured around his bed.

She snorted, a pin pressed between her lips. She glanced and told herself to stop being a presumptuous _dalkhmuzm_. Surely she was imagining a certain twinkle in the King's eyes.

"Shall we try another one?" she said and lifted the doublet she'd brought with her.

She quite fancied the bold, unorthodox cut of this one, with its wider sleeves, and the slits to show the tunic that would go underneath. The first one - more traditional, with the swan collar, reminiscent of the Erebor fashion of the old - was too subdued, she thought. King Thorin was a pleasure to create for - and so far she hadn't met any resistance to her flamboyant ideas, so…

The King sighed and started slowly turning on the bed. He looked better that the last time she had seen him - colour seemed to be returning to his face, though still thinned. She could see he had lost a lot of weight. It was obvious by the tunics he wore. She had heard of the terrifying injuries he had sustained in the fight with the Orc filth. On the other hand, according to her Aunt, the King was recovering well, and 'surprisingly fast for the man of his age,' Siginirak would add sardonically. To which Algun would shake her head and laugh. The King of the Longbeards was many things, she thought, but an old man he was not.

Mahal help her, was he not.

"I'd like to take your measurements again first," she said. "You need tunics."

Algun stepped to the King, who now sat on the edge of the bed. He opened his arms in an invitation, and she pulled out her measuring ribbon.

"The silk merchants had arrived a fortnight ago, and I had the foresight of ordering some fabrics," she said, keeping her eyes on the digits on the ribbon.

Which was surely preferable to meeting his gaze - or noticing any of the small details about him.

Last time, after she'd returned to her room, she had to listen to Halda and Borka discuss the King, until she could hear no more of their 'ah's' and 'oh's' and 'cerulean eyes' and 'strong shoulders' and on and on! Borka was loud and enthusiastic and breathy at times. Halda showed more restraint but even she couldn't fully hide her admiration. Algun stubbornly refused to join the army of the females who ogled and swooned and talked, and talked, and talked!

Catching the attention of the King of Erebor was like exposing a diamond ore vein in Grey Mountains - unlikely and, if it ever were to happen, a questionable luck. Just as one couldn't mine those mountains, what would a girl do if he showed interest? There was no careless flirting with the man! Everyone knew he would marry soon, and he would marry the one he thought to be the best Queen Erebor could have. And that would be… another matter completely. Algun preferred to focus on her craft. Idle fantasies were never her fancy.

She of course had to remind herself of her convictions about a dozen times by now. He was too close, and King or not, the man was stunning!

"Are my measurements not to your liking, Mistress Algun?" he asked, shaking her out of her concentration. His voice was merry. "You are frowning quite intensely."

Algun pulled the pin out of her mouth and gave him a polite smile.

"I'm just focusing, my lord. I want to start working on those tunics as soon as possible," she answered, telling herself there had been no hidden meaning in his words.

She turned to Halda and picked up the second doublet out of her hands.

"Shall we?" she asked, and he rose to his feet swiftly.

Had his previous weakness been just theatrics, Algun wondered in shock.

He was towering over her now, and she looked up. All the foolish gushing Borka and Halda had done, as well as every other female in the infirmary, and it seemed in the whole Erebor, rattled in Algun's mind - all the compliments to the profile, and the line of lips, and the thick dark beard, and that slight, hardly noticeable slant in his smirk - if there were a smirk, and not just Algun's imagination, and the… Algun's thoughts jumbled, and she swallowed jerkily.

"The doublet, Mistress Algun," he said quietly, and Algun twitched in acute embarrassment.

What was she thinking standing frozen, eyes roaming him?!

The velvet voice seemed lower than usual - but again, it _was_ just her imagination, she was... sure. Wasn't she?

She helped him into the sleeves, and then carefully straightened the quarters. The slits required some adjusting, and so did the placket.

"How are you enjoying your service?" he suddenly asked, and Algun's fingers froze on the brocade of the fabric.

"Pardon?" Algun sounded raspy.

"I know you are volunteering your services in the kitchens and in the infirmary. It is commendable when renowned artisans take upon themselves lesser jobs in my Mountain," he said and, it _seemed, _leaned closer to her.

Algun asked herself at what point she was to admit it wasn't just her imagination anymore. She just didn't want to join the crowd of fawning dimwits! And watch his every movement! And misinterpret them to her favour! She refused, because it would be doltish, and she knew her place, and even if…

"So?" The baritone rumbled in his throat. "Are you enjoying it?"

"My service in the kitchen?" she muttered, gathering her will.

"My mountain," he answered, and Algun finally looked up and met his eyes.

There _was_ a smirk. And the spark in the eyes. And he _was _leaning. Algun took a deep breath and jerked her chin up. The man was so tall!

"The Lower Halls are still too cold, and the wine stores leave much to be desired, but other than that… it's quite pleasurable," she answered; and he boomed a low surprised laugh.

She was Algun, daughter of Birni, of the Blacklocks of the East. Quick wit, self-respect, and a sharp tongue were her innate traits, just as the raven hair.

"Anything else requires my attention in _my_ mountain, Mistress Algun?" he asked, and the smirk had now most definitely turned into a wide smile.

"I do not presume to judge," Algun answered with dignity. "I know fabrics and attires. I leave renovations and facilities to engineers."

She carefully took the doublet off him and walked to the table where Borka was folding the end of the silk roll. Algun could see that the girl couldn't wait to start going over every little detail of this visit - Algun's excessively familiar conversation with the King above all things, of course.

"Don't," Algun hissed at her under her breath, and the apprentice gave her a disappointed glare.

Algun picked up two samples of the fabric and returned to the King. He was back in his cushion 'throne.' The rest of their conversation was thankfully commonplace.

* * *

"Oh c'mon, don't be a dullard!" Borka hollered as soon as the door closed behind them.

"Shush you," Halda said.

Out of other six girls who were tenants of the hall where Algun and her assistants had been placed upon their arrival to the Mountain, only three were in the chamber at the moment. One slept on her bed; two were mending their clothes and chatting. They had turned at Borka's yapping, and Algun gave them a polite empty smile hoping they'd lose interest.

Algun grabbed Borka's sleeve and dragged her to the corner where their beds were.

"Don't. Even. Start," Algun said firmly.

"What—"

"Nothing! Don't start anything!" Algun pulled at her friend's arm to make the girl lean to her. "I am not intending to be one of _them_."

"Whom them?" Borka grumbled.

"The women who memorize every little thing he said or did, and make assumptions, and fantasize! And most importantly, I'm not going to be gossiped about." Algun made sure to look as stern as possible. "And if we start one tiny conversation, interpret - or more so misinterpret - one gesture or one phrase, there will be no end to it! Someone will hear, and someone will know!"

"But the way he behaved—" Borka started.

"Who behaved?" a voice came from another end of the room.

One of the girl was now staring directly at Algun.

"A silk merchant we'd seen about the fabrics from the East," Algun quickly conjured a lie.

"Ah, an Easterling," the girl scoffed.

"Oi, I'm from the Far East," Borka immediately bristled. "And so is she. Do you have any problem with us Blacklocks?"

"Don't get your bloomers in a knot," the girl said pacifyingly. "It's just well-known that the men from the East are a tad freer than the Blue Mountains lot. Those are uptight."

Algun turned away from the girl in relief. She gave Borka a pointed look, and the assistant nodded. The matter seemed to have been reserved for the time being - and Algun sincerely hoped it would never have to be revisited.

* * *

The next day she came into her Aunt's chamber behind the healers' halls. The dame was sitting on a low cot. Her hair was tangled, after the short sleep she no doubt had managed to snatch. She looked displeased, and kept rubbing her left shoulder. Algun knew that an old battle wound would gnaw at her Grandaunt's arm after a long day at the infirmary.

"Evening," Algun greeted her cordially, but the woman's face remained irked.

"Do you care to explain this to me?"

The woman pointed at a small parcel at a herb crate that served as a bedside table to the healer.

The silk paper was unwrapped, and inside Algun saw a small bulbous bottle. There was a note attached to its neck.

"_Since your grandniece has expressed her discontent at the supplies of wine and mead available in my Mountain, please, accept this small gift of Blue Mountain plum brandy. Be so kind as to consider it a compliment to the charm of Algun, daughter of Birni - and as a request of knowing her family tree. With honour and reverence, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain."_


	10. Weightmaster

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* * *

The next time Eorwyn saw the Dwarven King was three days after their first meeting after the war.

She often thought how fortunate she had been to become of use to the Head of the Netmakers Guild in the first few weeks after the Battle. Master Bryn was one of the few former prominent members of Esgaroth's society, who retained their status after the fall of the old Master of Laketown. King Bard was obviously intent on replacing most of the men in power, but Master Bryn had the reputation of an honest man and an efficient official. Eorwyn had come to what was left of Master Bryn's household and asked for any work they could give her. A week later she was busy scribing and bookkeeping for three of the major guilds in whatever was left of the town. Two moons later she accompanied King Bard to Erebor.

That day she had returned to her tent, the one she shared with a few others who worked in the newly established Town Hall, which was just another tent at the moment as well. She climbed under the blanket on her bedroll, covered herself completely, rolled into a tight ball, and closed her eyes. Since she was small, that was Eorwyn's way of meditating after some exciting or terrifying events. The visit to the Mountain had been both. She had hoped of course that her former, short term companions would be willing to keep her secret - but she could not be sure. The visit had gone well; and being preoccupied with the actual work had been a proper distraction from her worries. Seeing King Thorin and Lord Balin had also been a pleasure. She had forgotten the sense of safety and peace she had felt near them, even during their short shared misadventure. All and all, Eorwyn decided that for now, she didn't have more worries that she'd had before the visit. On the other hand, Eorwyn was a firm believer in the idea that anything that could go wrong in life _would_ go wrong in life. And that there was always a way for things in life to get worse.

The King's second visit to Erebor was an excellent example of the aforementioned notion.

The Kings argued. The Counsellors - two elders from Esgaroth, Lord Balin, and Lord Boin - were adding to it. The winter cold had been settling in the land; and with it came more exchanges, higher prices, and less moral scrutiny. Both sides seemed to blame the other. Neither saw any fault on themselves. Eorwyn quickly scribbled with her quill and kept squeezing her knees tighter and tighter together, expecting any of the men in the room to lose their temper at any moment.

"Look at these contracts!" King Bard barked and pushed a disarrayed pile of parchments towards King Thorin.

"Each one of them - and I mean _each_ \- has plenty of discrepancies between what was promised to my men and what was delivered!" the Dale King said.

"I will not waste my time going through some minor contracts," King Thorin grumbled back. "I'm certain you have enough of bureaucrats to go through every bag of grain and every goat that had been purchased."

"It is not goats and bags that are our concern! It is the sheer fact that we do not seem to be establishing any good of a relationship between our people!" King Bard firmly patted the desk in front of him with an open palm. "It seems that every bargain we make falls short! For one side or another," he added diplomatically.

King Thorin raised an eyebrow, but he seemed somewhat pacified by the accession and stretched his hand to the parchments. He picked up the first one, read it, and then picked up another.

"It seems your men tend to come up short on many of these deals," he grumbled; and King Bard gave him an exasperated look.

"We will not find the root of the problem if we blindly place blame," he started patiently again.

King Thorin threw him an amused look.

"I remember similar words from your predecessor," he said, and continued before King Bard could answer. "It is just a jest, Master Bargeman. I'm looking at the bonds and agreements, and it seems there is blame on both sides. Or more of a..." He hummed pensively. "Misunderstanding."

"Exactly," King Bard rushed to agree. "People are desperate, the Winter is upon us. And it seems they just can't find the middle ground. They need some sort of a-"

"Marketplace," King Thorin finished.

"Indeed!" King Bard's eyes shone. "Some sort of a shared ground, a place or an office, which would allow them to negotiate easily."

Eorwyn had been listening to their conversation for quite a while, and since she had nothing to write down, she could pay it her full attention. She'd been nodding through the last few sentences exchanged, and then, without realising she'd said it outloud, she added, "And a weightmaster guild."

Silence fell in the chamber, and then King Bard asked, "A weightmaster guild?"

Eorwyn stared at him in mortification.

"The boy is right," King Thorin said, as it seemed to Eorwyn, in an unnecessarily loud voice.

But then she thought she would be the only one to know that his statement had a lie hidden in it.

"Judging by these contracts," the Dwarf King said and pointed at the parchment in front of him, "Your Men and my Dwarves simply use different systems of measurements."

"You people have traded with others in Middle Earth for ages," King Bard said exasperated. "Surely, you use the same measurements!"

"We do, but not when we store goods," Lord Boin said.

"See? These parchments here? Your Men use the old contracts, from before the Fall of Erebor, as templates." Lord Balin followed the lines of a document with his finger. "They had the ancient system of measurements then, and the conversion is erroneous." He chuckled. "In some. In some it hadn't taken place at all."

King Bard frowned and peered into the parchments. Eorwyn craned her neck trying to see.

"Well, why don't you just come over, weightmaster!" one of the King's counsellors said venomously.

It took Eorwyn a second to understand the snide had been addressed to her, and she winced away.

King Bard looked between her and the Man, and then he gave the counsellor a grave stare.

"Perhaps the boy knows more about it than any of you. It had been moons since we started the trade, and look at the shambles!" He then turned to Eorwyn. "Come here- Eoren, was it?"

Eorwyn swallowed a knot in her throat and slid off the chair. She approached the table and stopped a few steps away from it.

"Come, come," the King encouraged her again.

She crossed the distance to the desk grudgingly and stretched her neck to peek.

"This is _aban. _'Stone.' My Uncle called it 'Dwarfstone,' but I believe it just means 'stone,'" she said and pointed at a rune with one finger. "And this is _ethan, _'cart.' But I'm probably pronouncing it wrong," she muttered apologetically.

She dared to look at the Dwarf King and saw a smile hide in his eyes.

"Nay, that is exactly what it is," he said. "Did your Uncle trade with Dwarves, Master Eoren?"

Eorwyn nodded.

"I was raised in Enedwaith, my lords," she said to King Bard and the Counsellors.

The explanation surprisingly seemed to satisfy the Men.

"I know the names for some runes, the mathematical symbols, but I'm not sure whether the conversion I had been taught is correct," Eorwyn said. "There was no measure between the 'cart' and _sejer, _the caravan, and that always seemed like a discrepancy to me. It is a 662.386 hundredweight of difference!" Eorwyn's voice started growing more confident around her favourite subject. "And I've always suspected that the system had to be organised around the degree of fifty, but it wasn't when my Uncle used it. He kept saying that the Dwarves were swindling him, but I think he was just miscalculating."

She was interrupted by King Thorin's laughter. While others were just staring at her, the expressions ranging from irritated to bewildered, the Dwarf King burst into guffaws. His eyes were squinted, and he clapped his large hand to his knee.

"Mahal the Maker, you're like an abacus!" He shook his head. "Weightmaster, indeed."

Blood rushed away from Eorwyn's face. How could she have been so careless? She had managed to stay in the shadows for so long, first on the road with her Uncle's company, then in Esgaroth. She bound her chest, spoke to no one except to talk shop, hid from everyone's eyes as much as she could. No one among her present peers even suspected that she wasn't born in Laketown! And in the course of five minutes she'd announced to the King that she wasn't even his subject and then she blabbered away about numbers and runes. She'd shown herself foolhardy and audacious - over Dwarven measurements! In front of Dwarves!

She unconsciously took a step back, her hands starting to shake. An image of how exactly she would pack her scarce belongings in her hand-down sack and what she would need for a journey flashed through her mind; and she was just starting to ponder where she could even travel to, when the Dwarf King spoke again.

"I say, Master Eoren is the most useful of your Counsellors, Bargeman," he said. "And that idea of a weighmaster guild - or at least one weighmaster - seems the wisest I've heard today."

King Bard leaned back in his chair, too short for his handsome stature, and sighed.

"I believe Master Eoren had just earned himself a promotion," he said and gave Eorwyn a wink.

The latter wasn't certain whether this was good news at all.


	11. Numbers Don't Lie

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**K. xx**

* * *

Eorwyn walked through a long dark passage. She was so short and, to be honest, so weak at her knees at the moment that it took her significant effort to keep up with the Dwarf walking in front of her. He had a large lantern in his hand. Its yellow light seemed sickly and hostile to Eorwyn. She tried to steady her breathing, but every time she seemed to draw a deep inhale, her trunk would hit her side painfully, making her breath hitch. The corridor they followed wound and wound, and finally they entered a large chamber through a low arch. For once in her life, Eorwyn didn't find her surroundings too tall for her.

The chamber was full of low wooden tables, and about a dozen Dwarves sat on chairs and crates near them, bent low over parchments. Some had glasses, many had abaci near them. Quills jumped on paper. Pages of legers rustled.

"Master Svuir, the Man is here," Eorwyn's guide said loudly; and it seemed to Eorwyn, that every Dwarf stopped what they were doing and looked up at her.

A tall Dwarf was standing his back to the entrance and turned at the announcement. His hair and beard were white, face narrow for a Dwarf, and the deep set eyes were of the darkest colour. His long bony nose was crooked on one side so much that Eorwyn half expected him to make a whistling noise when he breathed.

Master Svuir took a few slow steps, limping, leaning on a cane of black shiny wood.

"The bookkeeper?" he asked, looking Eorwyn over. Doubt coloured his low dry voice.

"A scribe," Eorwyn said.

"That wasn't what I was told by the King," Master Svuir said and turned around. "Follow me, Master Scribe."

Eorwyn minced after him, feeling the eyes of every other person in the room on her.

The room she entered was a study of Master Svuir, and unlike other halls in the Mountain she had seen before this one wasn't bare or modest. A large heavy wooden desk and a tall chair behind it shone, and the smell of polishing oils was in the air. There were other solid and richly ornate pieces of furniture, which Eorwyn didn't know the purpose of. Shelves of volumes and parchment rolls covered the walls.

The Dwarf carefully walked to his desk and sat heavily, stretching his right leg in front of him. The gaze of his bottomless black eyes was discomforting.

"Take a seat."

He pointed at a bench across his desk, with a small wave of his pale dry hand. Eorwyn sat down.

"I was told you know your numbers, Master..."

"Eoren," Eorwyn said.

"Master Eoren," the Dwarf repeated. "To me, you seem utterly too young for it, but on the other hand your kind live so little." He placed his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. "I still cannot see why your King chose to send you alone. Perhaps you are being set up to fail, Master Eoren."

Eorwyn swallowed with difficulty.

"I am the Auditor of the Court of Exchequer of the Line of Durin," the Dwarf said. "Do you know what it means, Master Scribe?"

"No, my lord." Eorwyn's voice was hardly audible.

"It means that I have the last word when it comes to numbers in Erebor. Treaties and politics interest me not. Only numbers. Pure, unsullied, cold numbers. The trade, the goods..." The man's pale nostrils flared scornfully. "At the end all the ruckus and chaos of life distills down to pure numbers. And I am their master. Now tell me, why am I being asked to mentor a boy in dirty clothes who smells of fish?"

Eorwyn sat quietly, her eyes lowered to her hands. The Dwarf was right, there was dirt under her nails. She didn't smell of fish, though, that much she was certain of. She had washed in the morning, as was her daily habit.

"You do not have much of a temper, Master Eoren," Master Svuir drew out. "A Dwarf wouldn't stand for such an insult."

"I was invited here for my knowledge and my interest in measurements and conversions, my lord, not for my temper," Eorwyn said quietly. "I indeed have none."

"And where does your interest in Dwarven measurements come from?"

"My Uncle traded with the Dwarves in Enedwaith," Eorwyn answered simply. "But it is not just the Dwarven bookkeeping craft I am interested in. All numbers fascinate me."

"Why?"

The short question hung in the air, suddenly heavy with meaning; and Eorwyn frowned. She had never had the luxury of partaking of a formal education; but she imagined that was how taking a test would feel like.

"Because they... don't lie," she finally said. "There is no room for interpretation, for misrepresentation, and for giving one side of a story, without giving another. Numbers are plain and simple. They are - like you said - pure."

The Dwarf chuckled.

"That's quite an insight from someone so young and so… unschooled."

Eorwyn of course knew that this had been another insult, but nonetheless she discreetly exhaled in relief. She had passed the test, she felt.

"I suppose I cannot disobey the King of Longbeards," Master Svuir said and shook his head in wry amusement. "Get your tools, Master Scribe. Let's see if your numbers dance, or just your runes."

* * *

After three hours of writing, calculating, being mocked, corrected, and showered with veiled insults, Eorwyn put down her quill.

"Well, I have to say," Master Svuir said in an almost warm voice, "that you are only half as ignorant as I expected; and twice less witless than those whom I had to explain this to before."

Eorwyn laughed shakily.

"I'm too exhausted to calculate the degree of your discontent right now, my lord."

The Dwarf gave out a short dry laugh.

"So numbers wake up a sliver of character in you?" The Dwarf chuckled again. "Go rest, Master Eoren. We will continue in the evening."

"Pardon?" Eorwyn felt confused. "I was under the impression I was invited for one visit."

"I was told I was to _teach_ you, Master Eoren." The Dwarf gave Eorwyn a pointed haughty look. "Do you expect to learn everything I have to teach in one visit?"

"No, no, of course not, my lord, but-"

The Dwarf scoffed and pulled a wide velvet ribbon hanging near the armrest of his tall chair. A low hum of a large bell ran somewhere deep in the walls.

Eorwyn jumped to her feet and started hastily packing her quills and compasses.

An unfamiliar Dwarf appeared in the room, and Eorwyn opened her mouth to thank Master Svuir but he was already reading a large volume open on his desk. Eorwyn scampered.

Once again she was hurrying after another stern Dwarven warrior, in his heavy armour, with a terrifying axe clasped to his back. After a few minutes Eorwyn was starting to feel panicked.

"Pardon me, kind sir, but… where are we going?"

"You were given a room in the Lower Halls, near the infirmary. To eat and to rest."

The Dwarf looked at Eorwyn over his shoulder, and whatever he saw made him slow down. Eorwyn saw his face soften, and the brown eyes twinkled under the bushy eyebrows.

"Do not worry, laddie. We won't feed you to the bears."

"Bears?" Eorwyn squeaked, and the Dwarf laughed.

"Like I said, worry not. You are an official guest of King Thorin. You will be treated well."

Eorwyn pressed her trunk to her chest. She rarely expected to be 'treated well' in her life - but perhaps she would at least be fed. She hadn't had any food since the morning of the previous day.

* * *

The room she was placed in was a large empty stone chamber. There was a cot by the wall, an empty crate near it, and a surprisingly splendid basin stand, savaged perhaps among other remnants of life in Erebor from the times before the Dragon.

The Dwarf left, and Eorwyn as much as fell on the cot. It was three o'clock past midday, but she felt as if she'd been digging or carrying rocks for the last forty eight hours. She'd been sent to Erebor with a short offhanded remark from one of the King's Counsellors that she was to 'see what the Dwarves had to say about those weights and other measurements.' No one told her she was to be schooled by the terrifying Auditor of the Court of Exchequer of the Line of Durin! For a duration unknown! Which wasn't news to the Dwarves apparently since they'd prepared a room for her!

Eorwyn shook off her boots, sat back to the wall, and pulled her knees to her chest. She was quite accustomed to being thrown around her life like a twig in a river stream, but even for her this abrupt change was overwhelming.

Her gaze roamed the grey walls and the floor of the chamber. It was times bigger than the room she had resided in in Enedwaith, which she had shared with two kitchen maids and the daughter of one of the merchants - seven point three times bigger, her ever so restless mind measured and calculated. The lantern on the crate gave out even orange light, illuminating only her little corner. She remembered how when she was a small girl her stepbrothers told her that the dead lived in the dark corners of their house and for moons after it she'd wake up screaming for many times a night. She wondered if there were spirits of the dead Dwarves standing silent outside her little island of light. Eorwyn pulled her knees tighter to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.


	12. Warm

The door opened, and a young Dwarf girl came in with a tray. The delicious smell of fresh bread and some hearty meat dish immediately filled Eorwyn's nose. She sat up on the cot.

"Good day," the girl said and approached Eorwyn. "I'm bringing you your dinner, Master..."

"Eoren."

Eorwyn slid off the bed. The girl put the tray down on the side table and studied Eorwyn. A small friendly smile played on her lips.

"You're such a youngling," she finally said with a small laugh. "They told me you were an emissary from the Men!"

"I'm… seventeen," Eorwyn answered.

She threw a hungry look at the tray.

"Eat, eat, Eoren!" the Dwarf said with another silver laugh. "You look like a draft can topple you over."

Eorwyn didn't miss that the Dwarf had emitted 'master,' but she also realised she couldn't care less. The aroma of the meal was mouth-watering! She sat down on her cot, the tray on her lap, and quickly picked up the spoon.

The stew was the most delectable food she'd ever tried!

"Seventeen, huh?" the Dwarf drew out, and only then Eorwyn noticed that the girl had lingered.

Eorwyn nodded. She couldn't answer because, though she was 'uneducated' and 'inerudite' according to Master Svuir, even she knew one shouldn't talk with one's mouth full.

"That's not much in the years of Men, is it?" the Dwarf maiden mused. "You live to seventy at most, so that would be..." She wrinkled her brow.

"60.83 in Dwarven years," Eorwyn said and bit into a thick slice of bread. She'd never had bread better than this one.

The Dwarf gave out a surprised laugh, and then a knock came to the door.

"Come in," the girl answered, and Eorwyn sighed from the girl's impertinence.

The door opened, and two Dwarves stepped in. Eorwyn looked at them - and the piece of some root vegetable stuck in her throat. The Dwarf maiden straightened up, and Eorwyn thought she heard a gasp.

"My lord," the Dwarf girl breathed out and bowed. "My lord Dwalin."

King Thorin gave the girl a look over - and she was gone so fast that Eorwyn thought she felt a gust of wind on her cheek.

"It _is_ you then," lord Dwalin said, when the door hastily closed behind the Dwarf maiden.

Eorwyn pushed the tray off her lap and stood up. She fought an urge to brush off the crumbs that no doubt were scattered over her doublet and to pull at its hem straightening it out. Instead she just gave the Dwarves a respectful bow.

"Looking better, I see," the intimidating Dwarf said and chuckled. "Still dressed as a lad."

She nodded and gave him a shy smile.

"How's Erebor treating you, my lady?" King Thorin asked, and then suddenly pointed at her cot. "Would you fancy sitting down?"

She gave him a confused look but obeyed. As soon as she sat down, he took a slow step towards her.

"Do you mind if I join you?" His voice sounded lower and deeper than before.

Eorwyn wondered what affected him, and then she understood.

"Please, join me," she said eagerly, and he nodded and heavily lowered himself on the cot.

Eorwyn had noticed the stiffness of his movements and the white bandages hiding under the cuffs of his velvet doublet. She strictly ordered herself to avoid staring at them again.

"Tell us of how you'd been before you became a scribe to the Bargeman," lord Dwalin said.

"There isn't much to tell, really," Eorwyn answered. "The Elves healed me, and I stayed with them until the Battle was over. I didn't even know that there was a battle, to be frank," she said apologetically. "And when I came to the city, it was in ruins, and I walked to the camp. It wasn't hard to find work, and then they were asking around for someone who could write and knew numbers."

Eorwyn shrugged and threw King Thorin a look. He was watching her with a warm expression, and she felt her cheeks flame up with blush.

"Just like that?" he asked, his voice velvet.

"Just like that," she answered, and he smiled widely.

"You're demonstrating modestly uncharacteristic to your people," he said and shook his head.

"Why?" she blurted out.

"Because you're presently the King's scribe and an emissary to King Bard and you've just survived the lesson with none other than Master Svuir, the Erebor's Auditor."

"He had been King Thrain's counsellor," lord Dwalin whispered conspiratorially. "The man is scarier than the Durin's Bane."

"I'm having another lesson with him in the evening," Eorwyn breathed out.

King Thorin barked a short guffaw.

"You must have impressed the old demon. He rarely has patience for a repeated meeting."

Eorwyn looked up into the King's bright blue eyes.

"I have a lot to learn from him, but..." She shied away, and bit into her bottom lip.

"But what?"

"I'm not sure I'm worthy of the knowledge that he has to share. Shouldn't it be someone-"

"Older?" King Thorin asked.

"Wiser," she said.

"Apparently there is none wiser in the city of Men," King Thorin said with a chortle.

Eorwyn had always known it about herself: rarely, fortunately rarely, she just couldn't keep her mouth under control, and some sort of a sharp remark would escape. It had cost her several severe beatings from her stepbrothers and a few other disagreeable episodes.

"Perhaps, the two Kings who chose me weren't that wise themselves."

And again, contrary to all her terrifying expectations, and just as during the negotiations with King Bard, the Dwarven King burst into loud careless guffaws.

"The moth has a sting!" lord Dwalin joined the King's merriment. "Would you look at that!"

Eorwyn released a shuddered breath she'd held.

"Perhaps, my dear lady, _your _King indeed lacks acumen," King Thorin said, still chuckling, "but I know an expert when I see one."

He tilted his head and gave her a smile she couldn't call anything but 'cheeky.' Eorwyn frantically blinked.

"And clearly Master Svuir agrees with me," the King added. "And now we should leave you to your meal."

Eorwyn gave him a grateful smile, and the Dwarf slowly rose from her cot. She'd noticed a purposeful inhale he'd take before he started moving. She'd heard rumours in Laketown, about his injuries.

She jumped to her feet, and he threw her a surprised look.

"I can't stay seated when you rise," she said softly. "I'm no lady."

"You claimed you weren't one even when among the company," he said warmly. One corner of his lips curled up. "And you were just as wrong."

Eorwyn gave it a thought and curtsied. He laughed quietly and shook his head. Lord Dwalin gave her a bow, and she returned it.

"Let me know if you wish to see other members of the company," King Thorin said. "They've all been told to keep your secret."

"Oh, I'd love to!" she exclaimed.

The two Dwarves left, and Eorwyn sat down and went back to her meal.

* * *

Her evening passed in another lesson with Master Svuir - and so did the next day, and the day after that. She still wasn't informed for how long these were to last. All Eorwyn could do was to study well. She then returned to her chamber, ate, and went to sleep in the cot.

The first evening, and every next one the same Dwarf maiden came. Her name was Minna. After the first evening, she'd grown slightly more respectful, but only slightly. She'd offered Eorwyn a bath, which the girl cautiously agreed on. She loved bathing, but of course had to always be careful not to reveal her true identity. In Laketown, she would sneak into the bath house at night and find a stall that she could lock. Sadly, the chance was rare.

A bath in Erebor apparently consisted of a large trough and two massive buckets of hot water. Minna also brought the supplies: a bar of dark, spicy smelling soap; a washcloth; and what turned out to be soap for hair in a large bottle of black glass. She also left a large drying sheet for Eorwyn, and asked whether the girl had any clothes to wash. Since Eorwyn had none to change into, she thanked the girl and refused.

When she sank into the hot water for the first time she as much as moaned in pleasure. The soap produced surprisingly rich voluminous suds, and her hair would be fluffy and soft after the liquid from the bottle. She wished she could spend as much time in the bath as possible but she couldn't let the water go cold. She needed to wash her clothes.

She ended up sitting on the cot, wrapped in the blanket from it, and her clothes were drying on the back of the chair. She sat, her eyes closed, for the first time in months her body unbound and clean - and warm. The Mountain was so warm! Eorwyn had always been slender; she'd been a sickly child; and for the first time in her life she didn't feel chilled! Whatever sustained the heat in the halls of Erebor, the air was dry and balmy during the day; and pleasantly hot at night. Never had she slept so well before! Once, she woke up with her foot sticking from under the covers! She had never before allowed herself to let her guard down so much, to feel so comfortable, so unthreatened! But she just couldn't bring herself to worry. She was fed till satiety, left alone, allowed to bathe - and during the day hours she had the privilege to pursue the intellectual endeavours she couldn't even dream about!

Eorwyn knew all good things came to an end - but for once she decided to allow herself to savour the peace and the joy she'd never previously experienced.

And then on the third evening, Minna came to her chamber and announced that Master Svuir was preoccupied that night, and instead 'Master Eoren' was invited to a dinner with King Thorin.


	13. Aye or nay?

"That's not how you use it."

Her Greataunt's voice made Algun jump up and tear her eyes off the bottle of the plum brandy.

"The cork is supposed to be pulled out, and glasses need to be filled. What a waste," the old woman grumbled and sat heavily in the chair.

She started unclasping the belts on the ankles of her boots, making displeased grunts. Algun thought she might have heard a quiet swearing as well.

Algun got up from her seat and came up to the old woman. She knelt and took the buckles out of the woman's hands.

"Alternatively... I could send it back," Algun said quietly.

She could guess Siginirak was currently giving her a sarcastic look even without lifting her head.

"It's been seven days, and you still haven't."

"Traditionally I'm allowed to think it over for a fortnight," Algun grumbled.

One boot was unbuckled, and she started on the other one.

"Poppycock," the Dwarven dame scoffed. "Most _zadram khajam_ are open the first day, and gleeful acceptance notes are sent back. In rare cases, when refusal is sent, it happens just as fast. You're just being a dunce."

"Why? Because I'm not sure what to answer?"

Algun got up.

"What's there to be unsure of?" Siginirak shrugged.

She shook off her boots and went to the basin, shuffling her feet. Algun knew the woman's knees had been bothering her recently.

"It's the first invitation to _courtship_, siginirak! I can't just say 'aye' and then renegade! And it's the _King_!"

Another dismissing 'pfft' noise followed from her Greataunt.

"The fact that he went after you shows he's just a man like any other."

"What's this supposed to mean?" Algun felt offended. "Am I not good enough to be his Queen?"

"You ain't," Siginirak deadpanned.

She dried her hands and sat at the table. Her dinner on the tray was definitely cold. She'd been once detained in the infirmary past any reasonable hour.

"There are maidens more beautiful, of better families, with better skills, and _much _bigger dowries in Erebor, practically waiting at his door. I've just chased a couple away today." The healer seemed unconcerned by the temperature of her stew and started eating it greedily. "And yet, even before his sister arrived to start matchmaking, he sent you this." The Dwarven dame pointed at the brandy with her spoon.

Algun threw a dark glare at the cursed bottle.

"Which only means one thing. He ain't using his royal head when choosing."

Algun plopped on a low bench by the wall. Siginirak threw her a sardonic look.

"It's just an _zadram khajam,_" the older woman said. "If you accept it, it just means you don't find him repulsive."

Algun gave out a shaky laugh.

"_No one _finds King Thorin repulsive, siginirak." Algun stretched her legs in front of her and stared at her boots. "But I just think… that unlike him, I can't just… skip using my head."

"Of course not. Marriage is generally a matter you should consider thoroughly." The woman poured a glass of ale in her mouth. "Any reasonable person would consider against of course, but I have low hopes for you."

"Why is that? I've never been one of them, 'waiting under his doors' ones," Algun answered pouting.

"Nay, but you haven't send the bottle away either. You _are_ considering marriage, and to him for that matter."

"_He_ is Thorin Oakenshield, siginirak," Algun said quietly. "Of course, I'm considering it. Now," she pointed out. "Now that he's… interested."

"And before?" Siginirak asked venomously.

"And before I just… admired him. His looks, and… his manners, I suppose." It was Algun's turn to shrug. "I enjoyed the fittings, and… his humour. He's… mesmerising, and exciting… I don't know, siginirak."

"Well, since you're enjoying his temper and his looks, why hesitate? Let's open the bottle now. I could use a drink."

The woman took a step towards the shelf the bottle had been perched on for the last seven days - and Algun emitted a shrieky, 'No, wait!'

"Now what?" Siginirak grumbled.

"Looks, and manners, and temper - that's not all that matters in this case, isn't it?" Algun crossed her arms. "There is also his… crown."

"What? Is it not to your liking? It won't go with the peacock clobber you're sewing him?" The dame barked a raspy, caw-like laugh.

"I mean, his rule! And how I would be the Queen of Erebor if this courtship takes it course!"

"Don't you want to be a Queen?" Siginirak asked nonchalantly.

"No!" Algun answered before she could even think about it.

She froze with her mouth half-open, and then she pressed her hand to her forehead.

"No, I don't want to be the Queen," she said quietly but firmly. "I want to open my shop in erebor. I want to be the best and most in demand needlemaster in all seven Dwarven kingdoms. I want to dress the King and the court."

"But do you want the King?"

"I do!" Once again the answer just burst out of Algun. "Oh, Mahal help me..."

"The Maker is no help for you here," the old woman scoffed. "He isn't usually bothered with blockheads."

Algun dropped her head in her hands.

"What do I do?" she whined.

The sound of a cork popping out of a bottle made her whip her face up.

"Drink, child. And write one of those frilly notes. I'll sign it."

A glass full of the dark ruby liquid was placed on the corner of the table, and Algun minced to it. She lifted the goblet and could already catch the sweet, heady aroma of the brandy.

"You still have moons to change your mind," the healer dame dismissed and licked her lips. "Meanwhile, you'll enjoy his looks, firsthand, so to speak."

She took a small sip and squinted in pleasure.

"Play with his locks, scratch the beard, and all those other things you've been imagining," Siginirak drew out.

Algun choked on her first sip of the brandy.

"What?" The old woman gave her a saucy wink. "I might be old, but I'm not dead yet."

Algun stared at her Grandaunt - and then just shook her head and toppled the drink down her throat. The flavour and aroma flooded her senses, intoxicating and overwhelming - just as its sender.

"I'll get a quill," Algun muttered and walked out of the room.

* * *

Algun was rummaging through papers on her Greataunt's table, when a door opened and a Dwarf stuck his head in. He looked somehow familiar - and then Algun remembered. The Dwarf had been a member of the original company of King Thorin. His name was Bofur, son of Bragi, from the Rhudaur Dwarves. All twelve Dwarves who travelled with the King from the South were well-known these days.

"Evening, lass." He gave her a wide sunny grin. "Is this the study of the chief healer, Mistress Frotha?"

"Aye, sir. It is. But she's in her chamber." Algun pointed at the door she'd just come from. "Do you need me to call her?"

"No, no, I just thought that was where King Thorin was."

"They'd moved him to a chamber in the East passage, Lower Halls, a few days ago. They'd cleared and decorated the halls for him."

"Ah. Well, ta!" The Dwarf smiled at her again.

He was moving out of the room, and then he was back, his head and shoulders back in the room, the door still, for some reason, only half open.

"Are you Algun, daughter of Birni? The famous seamstress?"

"Aye, I am," she answered, and he gave her a merry look over.

He was clearly sizing her up, but it didn't feel lecherous or offensive. Still, Algun met his eyes and gave him a pointed look from under a raised eyebrow. The Dwarf snickered.

"Pardon my curiosity, fair maiden. It's just that I've heard… rumours."

Blood rushed away from Algun's face. There was nothing she'd hate more than to be a subject of idle gossip; but then she remembered that she was in that room looking for a quill and parchment to write a note accepting the King's courtship, and she gloomily told herself she might as well get used to it.

"Don't worry yourself sick, my lady," the Dwarf continued, openly laughing now. "So far, lord Balin is restraining himself. It's only the Company who knows. And we will try keeping our mouths shut." He picked up a quaint floppy-eared hat he was wearing and funnily bobbed it on his head. "Good day."

"Good day," Algun answered darkly.

The Dwarf was leaving - and was back again.

"Though, to think of it, there will be wives at tonight's dinner; and they will blather." Bofur, son of Bragi shrugged. "Hopefully, old Balin keeps his gob occupied with food."

And then, he was finally gone.

Algun fell in her Greataunt's chair and pressed her hand to her forehead. She hadn't even agreed yet, and the 'rumours' had already started!

She looked down at the desk and finally noticed a quill sticking from under a pile of parchments. She picked it up and twirled it in her fingers. To think of it, she could still change her mind...


	14. Dinner

Balin and Nori arrived first. Then it was Gloin and his wife. And later, Oin and Ori walked in and took their seats by the fireplace. A few minutes later the door opened, a courtier came in followed by the girl. She looked around the room. A shy smile trembled on her lips.

"Master Eoren!" Nori greeted her gleefully, and she stepped forward.

Gloin and his wife approached the girl, and introductions followed. The official story was as close to the truth as possible. Only the girl's true gender was omitted. In the middle of their conversation the door flew open, and Bofur burst in, followed by Frera, his betrothed. She was Gloin's wife Ingvin's relation. Thorin felt very pleased with himself for organising the evening so cleverly: Ingvin had been invited to chaperone Frera, and unknown to herself, the girl.

There had been a small snag with the seating, because the spot was left to his right for the 'emissary of Men.' He could see that she was intending to argue, but then she met his eyes, and after a second of hesitation she nodded and sat down.

Frera immediately addressed their guest across the table. The Dwarf was too much of a chatterbox for Thorin's taste, matching her betrothed in speed and insignificance of what she was saying. On the other hand, it seemed to put the girl of Men at ease. Thorin even smiled at the dignity and grace the girl showed in the conversation. She was rather astute and level-headed for a youngling her age.

Ale was poured in the mugs, and he once again saw the familiar blank expression on her face. She'd had it when offered to sit at his right hand, or when she had been appointed an emissary, or when she'd been told she was to study Dwarven weightmastery. Her face grew cold, almost aloof, and she'd straighten her back and jerk her chin up. He suddenly realised that these instances of her appearing haughty entertained him. He knew she was timid - but she could almost deceive him in those moments.

He leaned to her and whispered, "What is it?"

She shot him a side glance.

"I can't tolerate spirits."

"It's just ale," he dismissed.

Her freckled nose jerked funnily.

"Not even ale. I get… muddled. I can have one sip, but not more."

"Take one sip, and then I'll save you," he said conspiratorially.

She stared at him with widened eyes, he gave her a smile, and she nodded. He noticed the strange colouring of her irises: the colour was neither green, nor brown, but something in between, with blue and golden streaks. The colour was also unnaturally bright, like a polished precious gem, a sort of opal perhaps. He never paid attention to eyes, to think of it. Perhaps, all Men of the South had irises like that.

"Toast!" he said and picked up his stein. "For our honourable guest, Master Eoren."

She picked up hers, and looked around the table, meeting the eyes of each person. He almost hummed in appreciation: the child showed admirable decorum and propriety.

They drank. He noticed she only took a small sip but kept the mug near her lips. He finished his drink, and put it on the table, as if accidentally close to hers. With the next toast he'd just pick up her stein, and she'd only have to lift his empty one to her lips.

She turned to him and her lips moved silently. He could see she was thanking him, and he nodded with a small smile.

The food was served, and quite quickly the conversation turned to the life in the town of Men. Bofur, whose family had arrived to Erebor a few days ago and were planning to set up their woodwork shop, was fishing for the information on the prospects of his family business. Frera's father was in wines. Questions regarding the Men's drinking habits followed. Nori seemed to be building yet another of dubious schemes of his. He was asking about barges and boats. Ori ate and listened greedily.

She answered - levelly and politely, but clearly steering away from any sensitive information. Thorin knew that the Men struggled. So did Erebor - but Men were weaker. The Winter cold aggravated them more. They had less mouths to feed - but weaker stomachs.

After a few minutes he caught himself listening attentively to what she had to say. She had a fresh perspective at the happenings in Laketown and Dale. She was after all an outsider. He once again was pleasantly surprised by the acumen of this child.

The next course was brought in; and the conversation temporarily dwindled, limited to a few short remarks.

Frera was delegating news about the silk merchants who had set up a shop in the High Halls. Ingvin was the only one listening, although Thorin smirked quietly into his drink, thinking of the silks that he had to choose from for his new tunics. He still hadn't received an answer from the needlemaster; seeing her try to avoid meeting his eyes and only talk shop at the fitting was amusing.

Frera continued babbling about more preparations for her wedding, and then turned to the girl.

"Are there many weddings happening in Dale? Surely, everyone is just as excited to go back to the ordinary life as the people of Erebor - with courtship, and weddings, and children." Frera threw a flirtatious look at Bofur.

"I'm afraid, with the cold and the scarcity of provisions," the girl answered, "people are so far concerned with making do. But I understand what you mean. Romance seems to be on the mind of many." She blushed slightly and dropped her eyes to her plate.

"And you, Master Eoren?" lady Ingvin asked with maternal warmth. "You're surely now a prominent bachelor, with your new status of an emissary, and your looks."

"My looks?" the girl asked, and a small disbelieving laugh escaped her. "My looks will hardly bring me many admirers… I mean, bring me success in romantic pursuits," she corrected herself.

Thorin saw other Dwarves exchange questioning looks.

"I'm very small. I would be too small and slender even for a girl," she explained, stammering a tad. "I can't fight or hunt; and I'm too weak for netting."

"But you know numbers! You're studying with Master Svuir himself!" Frera exclaimed. "Wouldn't such skill matter more than your physique?"

"Perhaps," the girl said and hid behind Thorin's empty mug pretending to drink.

"And what Man is considered attractive then?" Frera asked curiously.

"Tall, broad-shouldered, strong. Like King Bard. Most women in Dale consider him most desirable," the girl answered. The blush grew brighter on her cheekbones.

Thorin scoffed. Somehow the soft lilt in the girl's voice when discussing the Bargeman annoyed him.

"I still think that a man's craft and temper should matter more than his looks," Frera said stubbornly. "I'm sure once women in Dale know of your success, they will flock to you."

Thorin almost barked to the clack that their guest was too young to busy her - or him - self with such matters.

"To think of it," the girl suddenly snickered quietly, "I have been… approached the other day."

"Approached?" Nori asked.

"Aye," she laughed again. "By one of the maid's in the Town Hall. I might have misinterpreted her hints, but I'm almost certain she was trying to see if I was unattached."

"Well, why not?" Ingvin asked. "A lovely young man such as yourself would make an excellent husband!"

The girl stared at the dame for a few seconds - and Thorin too required a moment to remember that the Dwarven ladies simply couldn't know that their guest would never make an 'excellent husband.'

"You're certainly on the younger side," the dame continued. "It is all early days for you. But you seem utterly reasonable and sharp. At what age do Men usually marry?"

"If I were a girl, I'd be of marriage age for the last two years," the girl answered. "Men are expected to marry later, unless they are unreasonably enamoured of course," she said with a cheeky expression.

The Dwarves laughed - except for Thorin.

He discreetly looked her over. It was an odd feeling: to realise that he'd been wrong about her the whole time. He'd thought her a child, somewhere in the same years as Kili and Fili had been when they lost their father and came to live in his Halls. To thought that she could have been someone's wife and have borne a child by now... it was hard to comprehend.

The conversation by then had shifted on the clothing and hairdos at Frera's wedding.

"Your hair is so much shorter than that of Men of Dale," Frera was saying, and the girl's hand flew up to the small curls at the back of her head.

"I had to cut it off, when- When I started travelling," the girl said. "Before it, it was long, down my back. It was..." She paused and sighed. "I had good hair, healthy and thick."

"The colour is very beautiful," lady Ingvin complimented. "Like rose gold."

The girl once again touched the turned up ends of the silky locks. They looked soft, and suddenly Thorin wondered what they would feel like if he were to push his hand in the cloud of her curls. He shied away from the thought immediately, but his gaze strayed to her nape: the long neck, the proud set of the head, and the delicate glossy coils of her hair.


	15. Cake and Apples

Thorin folded the note from the needlemaster and smiled. It had been the third time he reread it since it had arrived two days ago. He could almost hear her melodic voice reading the mannerly phrases, in her thick Eastern accent, with humour hidden behind the obligatory niceties.

She hadn't refused him. He hadn't expected her to, to be honest. She'd been clearly reciprocative of his attentions. A small doubt had been on his mind, still. It was his first courtship after all - but on the other hand, there was the protocol and the rules of decorum, which had been established centuries ago. All he needed to do was to follow them.

He put the note away in the chest with other papers on his improvised desk; and he stretched in his chair. The bandages habitually rubbed across his body. He couldn't wait for them to come off.

A knock came to the door, and he allowed the visitor in. It was a maid with his meal on a tray. She walked into the room sideways, pushing the door with her elbow; and he saw another tray left on the floor in the hallway.

Thorin felt a joyous anticipation at the sight of his meal. His appetite was growing with each day. It had to do with the powders that Mistress Frotha made him take five times a day. They tasted appalling but he could feel his strength return expeditiously.

"I apologise for the delay, my lord," the maid said, placing his tray on his desk. "The kitchens have been running late today. Poor Master Eoren," she muttered, and Thorin who was already lifting the lid on his plate looked up.

"What about Master Eoren?"

"I just mean, he definitely needs his meals more than anyone," the maid said with a small laugh. The woman was in her hundreds, all round and maternal. "All skin and bones, that boy is. His plates always come back empty. It's like they don't feed their younglings! That's why I said, 'poor,'" the woman added with a smile. "He must be waiting at the door for his meal."

Thorin gave it a thought and said, "How about you invite Master Eoren to have his meal with me? We have matters to discuss, he might as well join me."

The woman gave him a surprised look, but he knew it wouldn't come to her mind to question his order.

"Just leave his tray with me."

The woman nodded and brought the second tray in. Thorin noticed that besides the same stew and bread and butter and pickled vegetable that he had, Master Eoren was also provided with a large slice of nut cake and two apples. The apples were small and wrinkly. Thorin smirked and shook his head. The cooks were clearly coddling the child.

The second knock came; and the girl came in. She once again had the same haughty expression on her narrow face. He imagined it was like an armour that she wore when anxious.

"Come in, Master Eoren," Thorin invited with a smile.

He could see the maid behind the youngling giving the girl an encouraging nod.

The girl walked in, and when the door closed behind her, she gave Thorin a small bow.

"Allow me to stay seated, _Master_ Eoren," Thorin whispered in jest. "I'm still recovering."

"You can stay seated, and I'll refrain from curtsying," she whispered back. The corners of her lips were twitching in a small smile. "I'm afraid I've never learnt to curtsy properly, especially in front of royalty."

Her eyes shone warmly, and he laughed and invited her to sit in front of him with a wide gesture of his hand.

She said and immediately picked up the lid off her bowl. The maid had been right. The emissary was starving.

"I hope you don't find this arrangement uncomfortable," Thorin said; and she lifted her face.

He could see that her right cheek was rounded from the food she'd stuffed in her mouth. She ate greedily, though not inelegantly. She reminded him of stray cats he'd seen in the streets of the cities of Men. She was biting small fast bites, and quickly chewed and swallowed, as if the food could be taken away from her at any moment, and the next meal wasn't a given.

"Uncomfortable?"

"Being alone with me. Without a chaperone," he said pointedly.

She swallowed and hastily wiped her mouth with a napkin. She had bright red lips, as if rouged, just as many redheads.

"I think if the truth were known it would compromise your reputation more than mine," she said pensively. "But I assume that since you invited me here, it is alright."

She was giving him a direct earnest look; and he felt suddenly… flattered. She _trusted_ him. And she relied on him. He knew nothing for sure, but whatever she'd disclosed about her past in her delirium in Mirkwood had hinted on her having been treated abominably - by men especially. The Elven healer also had said that the physical abuse she'd sustained had been substantial. Mahal knew, what she'd endured. And yet, she chose to place herself in his power.

She was back to her eating, and he was still watching her.

"When does Master Svuir says he will let you go back to your city?" he asked.

She froze with a spoon to her lips. Her lashes fluttered, in some sort of nervous tension.

"Do I need... Have I overstayed..." she asked in a small voice, and cleared her throat.

"I simply meant you are supposed to bring the knowledge you're receiving to your people eventually. You're more than welcome to stay in my mountain indefinitely," he said with a chuckle.

Her posture relaxed. She smiled to him shyly.

"Master Svuir mentioned another volume we need to 'conquer,' and then he's intending to send me… home," she said.

"And then you will return?" he asked. "For more 'conquests?'"

She giggled.

"I will have to teach what I've learnt to the merchants and bookkeepers in Dale and Esgaroth. I doubt I will be able to come back for more lessons any time soon," she added, her voice dropping.

She then looked down into her bowl and moved the food on its bottom with her spoon.

"Why is that?"

He watched her blink rapidly again, in the same distressed gesture.

"It will take time to make them listen. I'm just a… boy." She smiled joylessly. "Just as Master Svuir said the very first day I came here, I was sent here with the expectations to fail."

Thorin frowned. He was used to expressing his thoughts directly - and the thought her words evoked wasn't pleasant.

"Do you think King Bard doesn't want to improve our trade? Was your visit an empty gesture?"

She winced, and he understood his tone had been unintentionally harsh.

"No, no, I think it was an honest attempt on his part," she rushed to reassure, her eyes pleading. "But he overestimates his Men. They are more set in the old ways than he thinks. And again… I'm just a boy."

"But you aren't," Thorin said pointedly.

"But they don't know that! They simply-"

"I do not mean your gender," he interrupted in an irked voice. "You aren't simply 'a boy.' Presently you're the person most educated in the matters of Dwarven measurements and contracts. They are fools if they don't listen to you."

She studied his face. The scrutiny wasn't unpleasant. She then pressed her lips and nodded a few times.

"I will do my best to convince them," she said firmly. "I promise."

There was something endlessly childish in her words and manners - but then he thought that it wasn't childish. She was simply… _pure_. Honest. Virtuous. Honourable.

"If they don't listen, just come back. We will find work for you here," he said jokingly, but contrary to his expectations she didn't smile.

Bitter lines lay in the corners of her lips, and she lowered her eyes.

"If only it were true," she whispered, and picked up her spoon again.

"Why wouldn't it be?" he asked sharply, suddenly almost offended by her stoicism.

Her eyes flew up, and she met his gaze.

"Well, I'm no Dwarf..."

"And?" he asked. "At this stage you have enough skill and knowledge to secure yourself a post in Erebor, possibly even in the Court of Exchequer."

"But..."

She gaped at him. Her lips parted softly. She had large front teeth, white and even, which made her look even younger and candid. He suddenly lost all his irritation.

"But what?"

"But Dwarves don't allow outsiders in their dwellings!" she squeaked.

"_You_ are here. And I don't see anyone trying to kick you out," he said and shook his head in amusement. "My cooks seem to prefer you to _me_, even. Look at the treats you are given."

He pointed at her tray, and she immediately looked.

"_I_ don't get any cake or fruit," he drew out, and she once again gawked at him.

"Pardon me," she said slowly. "I... I apologise. It's just that's what they say. My people, I mean. That Dwarves do not… mingle with Men. That you do not see us as equal. Or familiar. There are no marriages between our races, and..." She trailed away and blushed. "Forgive me."

A realisation dawned on him.

"Is that why you felt safe with my Company? Because we wouldn't see you as a woman?"

This time blood rushed away from her face. From soft pink, her cheeks grew ashen white.

"No, no!" She shook her head frantically. "Well, perhaps, at the beginning… But I saw immediately that you were honourable! It had nothing to do with your race! I just knew! I felt I could trust you. That none of your Company would… hurt me. And not just because to you I wasn't female." She folded her hands in a begging gesture. "Please, believe me."

"I believe you," he said softly.

And then he thought momentarily that she was wrong: even though Dwarves indeed didn't 'mingle' with Men… she _was_ female to him. In the middle of their conversation, only for a split second, only very rarely - she moved, she breathed, she looked at him, her eyes wide and trusting; and he'd notice the full bottom lip, the small tender ear, the long graceful neck. It wasn't rational; it definitely wasn't proper; and Mahal help him, it was not simple - but there it was.


	16. Rotten Cabbage and Arithmancy

It was the day of Thorin's second official tryst with the needlemaster. He woke up and realised he was feeling poorly. His head was heavy, and when he rose he swayed. He took a few steps towards the basin and had to grab the back of his chair to stay upright.

Nyr, his manservant, came in with the morning tray.

"Morning, my lord." The eyes of the old Dwarf ran Thorin. "Are you alright, my lord?"

"Of course I am," Thorin said, immediately irritated by the weakness of his own voice.

The other Dwarf looked into his face attentively and nodded.

"I shall call for a healer."

"For Mahal's sake, don't be ridiculous," Thorin scoffed. "I just need coffee."

"I am no healer, my lord, but you look unwell." The Dwarf arranged Thorin's breakfast on the table. "I shall return with a healer promptly."

"I don't need a healer! I'm perfectly-"

Thorin didn't get to finish his protest. The servant was already shuffling to the door, feigning deafness, which seemed to come and go at the manservant's convenience.

"Nyr!" Thorin attempted to protest again, but the door already closed behind the old man.

Thorin barked a short swearing, and a bout of cough overcame him. He got up to wash down the nasty flavour in his throat with the coffee, and once again had to look for something to hold on to. His head spun.

* * *

"It is definitely grippe, my lord."

The healer sounded concerned. Thorin was going to scorn the diagnosis, but he found it hard to find strength. He'd been made to sit on his bed while the healer had listened to his breathing, looked down his throat, and into his eyes. Since the healer had stuck a wooden stick into Thorin's mouth and had been pressing his tongue down, Thorin hadn't gotten a chance to protest when Nyr had covered his lower half with a down sheet and furs - and now Thorin was warm and feeling more and more sluggish.

"I shall send herbs for you, my lord," the healer said. "I don't feel it's necessary to call other chief healers, and I don't think you're in any danger. As long as you follow my orders, stay in bed, and rest," he added strictly, with a pointed look; and Thorin sighed.

"I have many matters to attend today," Thorin said, but his tone lacked conviction.

"I do not presume to judge, my lord, but perhaps they could wait till tomorrow?" the healer said with a smile; and all Thorin had to do was to nod.

The healer left; and Thorin lay back and closed his eyes.

"Shall I call Master Brori to write a note for Mistress Algun?" Nyr asked.

When he wasn't pretending to be decrepit, the servant could move almost silently. Thorin agreed sleepily - and the world went dark.

* * *

He woke up a few hours later. The medicinal powders and a glass of water were on his bedside table, and he took them. A note for Mistress Algun explaining his inability to attend their meeting composed by his secretary Brori was there as well. It was satisfactory, so Thorin sighed it, turned on the other side, and went back to sleep.

He woke up, feeling just as feverish. He had no appetite and refused the food Nyr had brought him.

A knock came to his door, and a young healer brought more powders for him. Nyr was still trying to feed him, so Thorin sent him away.

His head hurt, and his eyes watered, so reading was out of the question. He tried sleeping, but his throat was sore, and he felt heated, and then sharply cold. He tossed and turned in the bed, his mood growing more and more foul.

Balin came for their usual discussion of the renovations of the Upper Halls, but Thorin found it difficult to concentrate. He felt no interest in the numbers and the account of the usual squabbles between the contractors and bookkeepers. Balin noticed his state, quickly excused himself, and left.

Afeter a few more hours in bed, Thorin was starting to feel beyond irritated. He took another sachet of the medicine, and his fever broke, bringing a new wave of lethargy. His thoughts moved slowly and unpleasantly like stones in a gristmill.

A knock came to his door, and he considered ignoring it. He then rebuked himself for the weakness and invited the visitor. It was Brori with the note from the needlemaster.

She was expressing her sympathy and was wishing him quick recovery. Thorin ran his eyes through it and put it aside. He felt a small pang of regret that he wouldn't see her today. Last time they had a lovely evening together. The first few meetings in a courtship were undemanding, as he had been explained by the Protocol Master, invited from the Blue Mountains.

They had shared some brandy and spoken of their interests and plans. His were easy to speak of. He was a King after all, and there was no question of his 'vocation intentions.' She had shared hers. He already knew she was ambitious. He felt easy and comfortable in her presence. Her character was just the right balance between lively and willful.

Brori quickly went through a few more small matters, and then said, "Also, Master Eoren is requesting an audience, my lord. He says his term with Master Svuir is over, and he is to return to the city of Men. Shall I tell him you can't see him?"

Thorin gave it a thought and shook his head.

"Invite him in."

Brori threw him a surprised look, but of course didn't question the order. He walked out of the room, and the girl came in.

"You will have to forgive me, Master Eoren. I'm once again bedridden," Thorin attempted to jest.

She approached his bed, and her eyes roamed his face.

"I apologise for the intrusion, my lord," she said.

She had her cloak in her hands.

"Shall I come back later?"

"No need. You'll have to travel in the dark if you wait." Thorin said. "Sit. Let's say our goodbyes."

He smiled at her, and she tucked herself on the chair near his bed.

"I don't like saying goodbye," she suddenly said. A shadow ran her face. "And I don't like seeing you- seeing people in bed."

He felt entertained by her clumsy evasive attempt.

"Well, this time it's just a grippe, I'm told. And it's not a proper goodbye. You still have plenty to learn from Master Svuir. You'll be back in no time."

She was frowning, and he stretched his hand and covered her hands folded on her lap. She jerked and looked up at him.

"You're burning," she whispered, and he smiled again.

"It's nothing. They give me these nasty powders, they taste like rotten cabbage, but I'll be well in no time."

She gave him a long studying look, and her face softened.

"Have you actually tasted rotten cabbage?" she asked with a shadow of humour hiding in her eyes, and he laughed.

"I know you're mocking me, 'Master Eoren,' but aye, I have," Thorin said. "The first few years in the Blue Mountains, after my people had been exiled from Erebor, weren't exactly... plentiful. I'm not as spoilt as you are obviously assuming."

She finally smiled back. Her lashes fluttered in a warm shy expression.

"I have learnt not to assume when it comes to your people, my lord. It seems no good opinion is an underestimation when it comes to the honour and kindness of your kin." Her voice grew emotional. "I've been treated like royalty in Erebor."

"Have you been forced to wear uncomfortable clothes and have you never been left alone?" he asked with a laugh, and she snorted.

"No! Are you?"

"Of course!" He feigned being shocked. "Didn't you know? That's what being a royalty is all about. Someone constantly poking their nose into your business."

"Maiar help me, it sounds... lovely!" she said, and he tilted his head sardonically. "You try being all alone all the time! Last time anyone cared about my business was back in Enedwaith, and I was five, and my friend Thea-"

She suddenly grew silent, and he gave her a questioning look.

"Yes?"

She lowered her eyes.

"Pardon me, my lord, I'm being frivolous."

He looked at the golden soft crown of her semi-curls and gave her hands a gentle squeeze.

"You are not."

She lifted her eyes.

"What about your friend?" he asked softly.

He could see she hesitated, her even white teeth worried her bottom lip.

"My friend, Thea was her name… we were tots, I was five, and she was a bit older. She… took care of me. I remember going for walks with her. She carried goods to the market for her father's shop, and she let me follow her like a pup. And then…" She drew a slow shuddered breath in. "Then the raids started, and her family moved away. I don't even know where… where they went. I just hope she is well... and happy."

She smiled sadly and looked aside. He thought he saw tears shine in her eyes.

"And since then?" he asked.

The picture of her life was becoming more and more clear. She exhaled through rounded lips.

"What about since then?" she asked.

"Who's been taking care of you since then? Had you lived with your family before you started travelling with the merchants?"

She pressed her lips bitterly and shook her head.

"I've never had a family. I am an orphan. I lived in the family of the fur merchants, and then… then I was adopted by the man I was told to call Uncle."

She pulled her hands from under Thorin's.

"But that is quite a different story," she said in a tense voice, "and a boring one, for that matter. I'm tiring you. Forgive me."

She started to rise, and he caught her hand again.

"Eorwyn," he called quietly, and she met his eyes. "Stay a bit more. We can talk about something else," he offered lightly. "Your favourites, books and numbers. What was it you mentioned then, in Mirkwood? You said, 'languages and arithmancy,' wasn't it?"

She suddenly started giggling. Her face lit up, and her cheeks flushed.

"Arithmancy? Maiar forgive me, never!" She sat down again. "Arithmetics are my interest! Arithmancy is for the feeble-minded."

He barked a laugh.

"Is it now?" he drew out, and she nodded enthusiastically.

"It's such a poppycock, all this divination nonsense. Numbers are the very essence of clear mind and sober judgement. And people try to predict the hair colour of their spouses with them! It's an insult!"

By the end of her spiel he was guffawing.

"You're quite a feisty little thing when it comes to your beloved numbers, aren't you, 'Master Eoren?'" Thorin murmured.

She jerked her chin up. Her eyes were laughing. Her long cool fingers still lay in his hand. He was going to jest more, but coughing started again.

"Are you sure you don't need me to go?" she asked, and he nodded, still coughing.

"I can't sleep and can't read," he said. "You're my entertainment."

"At your service," she said and bowed still sitting.

He chuckled.

"Have you eaten at least?" she asked.

"No, I have no appetite."

"You should. Strong chicken broth, with roots and herbs, would bring the fever down, perhaps even better than the rotten cabbage powders they make you take," she said, in a tentatively teasing tone.

He chuckled again.

"Alright then, I'll ring for my manservant. Order that potion of yours. I'll drink it."

She smiled at him widely and put her second hand into his palm.


	17. Master Svuir Inquires

_Two moons later…_

Thorin was buttoning his doublet, when a knock came to his door. He answered without tearing his eyes off his reflection.

Brori came in, with yet another stack of parchments in his hands.

"My lord, more contracts from the Blue Mountains merchants," the secretary said.

"No, no more, Master Brori. Stuff them in some drawer and get changed for the revels," Thorin answered offhandedly.

He peeked and saw the young Dwarf's jaw slack. It took Thorin all his will power to keep a straight face.

"Well? What are you still doing here?" he barked, and the Dwarf jerked comically.

Thorin continued his labours nonchalantly, and Brori finally understood the jest and grinned from ear to ear.

"Aye, my lord. Right away!" he answered gleefully and dropped the papers on Thorin's desk.

"Are you bringing your betrothed then?" Thorin asked, and Brori looked back from the door he was opening.

"Aye, my lord. Her Father promised me she'd be there."

Brori's face lit up.

"Good. And now go!" Thorin threw over his shoulder, and the secretary was gone.

Thorin's left hand was still not as deft as he'd like, and he struggled with the small buttons on the collar. He loved the clobber, though. The needlemaster had done an excellent job. At the thought of the dark-haired Dwarf maiden a smile curled up Thorin's lips.

He'd seen her only a day earlier. Their courtship was well on its way. They had had seven of the traditional meetings, in the presence of the chaperones, some sort of distance relations of hers, two severe moustached aunts, just as customs prescribed. The last two trysts had been long walks, when the chaperones as if unintentionally had slowed down giving them more privacy. While still talking about the plans he had for the East Wing of the Thror's Halls, Thorin had felt the maiden's fingers brush at his hand. The gesture had been pleasant, flirtatious, and hardly unexpected. He'd turned and met her smiling eyes. It was such a pleasure to see that they had been on the same page - and he'd leaned in and brushed his lips to hers. He knew that if he'd overstepped he'd hear a cough from the chaperones, but no protest had followed, from either of the three women. The kiss had been chaste and short - but had promised so much more. He'd moved away and met her eyes. She'd pressed her lips hiding a grin and then she'd looked away, but she obviously hadn't been discontent. They'd walked on, and then her strong small hand had caught his. Again, he'd had no doubt in his mind. A few minutes later he'd looped his arm and she'd pushed hers through, her body now closer to his. He'd quite enjoyed it.

And today they would dance. He enjoyed how she moved, swiftly and confidently. She would be a good dancer, he thought. They were nowhere near any sort of announcement, but everyone knew surely, so he could dance with her as much as he wanted without the worry to offend other maidens' feelings. He was very pleased with how easy this while courtship business turned out to be.

* * *

It was past midnight and many dances later when Thorin stood by the wall conversing with several merchants from the Iron Hills. They weren't talking shop, too much ale had been drunk by then. One of the merchants was telling a long convoluted anecdote from his travels, half invented, half borrowed from his kin; and his audience was pretending to listen and laughed only due to the sated stomachs and inebriated minds.

"Pardon me, my lord, but I am an old man," a brittle voice came from behind Thorin.

The King turned around and met the gaze of Master Svuir. In his young years Thorin had been terrified of the bottomless black pits that were the Bookkeeper's eyes. Thorin couldn't say he had been fully cured of the feeling.

"I couldn't stay at the revels till the moment is appropriate, so I will speak now and take my leave," the old Dwarf said venomously. His gaze was sharp and sober.

The men near Thorin grew silent.

"It will sadden us to see you leave so early, Master Svuir," Thorin said. "There are still many barrels to open and many songs to sing."

"Neither interest me," the old Dwarf dismissed. "I will ask my question and repose. I would like to know when my student is to be returned to me."

"Pardon?"

From the corner of his eye Thorin could see the men exchange looks. Thorin felt just as confused.

"The boy. What was his name?" Master Svuir rolled his eyes in an exaggerated pensive grimace. "From the fishermen. He was supposed to return a week ago."

"Eoren?" Thorin stumbled over the name.

"Aye. I'd sent for him, a fortnight ago, they'd told me he was ill. A grippe, or something equally preposterous." The Auditor's lips twisted this time as if derisively. "They said they weren't certain he'd survive. And the courtier sent to them two days ago came back without any news."

"Mahal be merciful, I have a few years left before I join my ancestors beyond the Veil," the old Dwarf continued. "I don't have patience or time to bother with training another useless fool if this one might come back. So if you be so kind, my lord," the Auditor's tone grew glacial, "Do let me know when I can have my pupil back, if ever."

The Dwarf gave Thorin a bow bordering to a small nod, turned sharply around, and started slowly walking away, leaning on his white cane.

* * *

The messenger Thorin sent to Laketown the next day came back without any answer as well. He'd been told that indeed Master Eoren had fallen ill after his last visit to Erebor, but in the struggles and the disorganisation of the present life in the destroyed town he had been lost track of.

Thorin had heard the messenger out, and quickly drafted a personal note for King Bard, asking him to look into the fate of the 'scribe.'

The answer to it came three days later. The handwriting in the letter was unfamiliar, and in polite and ambiguous verbosities Thorin was let know that King Bard had better things to busy himself with. Thorin crumpled the paper and threw it into the fireplace.

Anger filled him. He found himself at loss at what he thought, what he needed to do, and what he thought actually needed to be done - and Thorin deeply loathed feeling this way. The boy- the maiden wasn't his ward or his charge of any sort; and yet he couldn't simply _abandon_ her. On the other hand, chances were she had found herself some... baker and resided in his house at the moment, recovering from the grippe that, Mahal damn his beard, Thorin had given to her. Thorin didn't know why he thought a baker was a likely candidate to be her companion in his mind. Thorin knew he wasn't the most imaginative of people, and this odd fantasy of his was just as surprising to him as it was fanciful.

Or it was possible she was dead.

He sat at his desk, a fist in front of his mouth, and the unfamiliar state of doubt tortured him. It took his uncharacteristically long to arrive at a decision, which thankfully brought relief.

He rang the bell and sent a courtier for Nori.

* * *

The morning of the next day the Dwarf entered Thorin's study.

"Do you remember Eorwyn, the girl we'd saved on the Quest?" Thorin asked.

"The scribe from Laketown, me thinks you mean, my lord," the ginger Dwarf said with a smile.

"The scribe's missing," Thorin answered. "Two moons ago she went back to their town, and since then nothing is known of her. Master Svuir had requested her presence, but the Men are ignoring our correspondence."

Nori nodded, and then clicked his tongue.

"How much trouble is she in?"

"Trouble?" Thorin asked frowning. "She's in no trouble. She'd fallen ill, according to the Men. And no one seems to know where she is now."

"They still haven't gotten a good infirmary," Nori said with a shrug. "When the cold hit they had no supplies, and the renovations had to stop. Many of them will not see the spring."

Thorin's mood grew darker. He knew of the hardships of Men - but he had his own people to think of. The trade had been growing, slowly, yet growing nonetheless. He knew the Elves supported the Lakemen, provisions and coal were sent to them. He felt he was doing enough to aid the Men, curving the prices and paying generously for what they had to offer. On the other hand, either Nori was wrong, or Thorin underestimated the calamity in Laketown, if indeed 'many of them' weren't to survive the Winter.

"I need you to find out what happened to the lass," Thorin said, and Nori cocked his head inquisitively.

"Find the girl," Thorin conceded with a sigh. "If she's well and… safe, let her know she's expected in Erebor. Apparently. Master Svuir still intends to teach her. If she is unwell or dead, bring the news straight back to me."

Nori nodded in the most nonchalant manner and got up.

"And if I find nothing?" the Dwarf asked.

Thorin opened a drawer and pulled out a heavy sachet of silver. He threw it on the table, and the bag quickly disappeared in Nori's pocket.

"Then keep looking until you have my answer," Thorin said, and Nori nodded again, bowed, and left.


	18. Smoke Before Fire

**I apologise for the long absence of my regular updates (you might have noticed before I'd been updating on Mondays every week, plus occasionally once more time each week), but I've been feeling poorly recently. The doctors are still looking into it, trying to figure out what's happening. So for now, all my writing and drawing pursuits are sort of in flux, but I'd like to go back to what I'd had before. Have patience with me! Thank you!**

**K.**

**Cheers xx**

* * *

Algun walked quickly through a passage, towards the Upper Halls. She knew she was late, and she kept rushing through the empty turns, and then would have to slow down if she met anyone, to preserve decorum. She still had gotten a few questioning looks before she reached the Front Gate Hall.

"Algun!" her Aunt's voice rang through the hall, and Algun waved her hand. "My treasure, what a sight you are! Always so elegant! I feel like a sparrow in front of a goldfinch!"

Algun laughed. Her Aunt was nothing like the plain brown bird.

"How was your journey, irakamad?" Algun asked.

The Dwarf dame gave out a dramatic sigh.

"Horrible, simply horrible! I have pledged to never travel in Winter again."

She pulled at the sides of her cloak as if to protect herself from the cold. It was of the most exquisite soft velvet, of deep dark purple colour, with the silver fox's fur on the collar and the hood. Many large gems sparkled on her fingers and wrists. She tucked a perfectly curled, raven black lock behind her ear, and gave Algun a look over.

"Mahal be merciful, what a beauty!" she exhaled and brushed her hand to Algun's shoulder. "You must make me one of these as well."

Algun laughed again. "You're speaking of the dress!"

"Don't be coy, darling. You know you're taking after my family line. We have nothing to be embarrassed of!" She pressed her white pampered hand to her chest. "And if the rumours I've heard are correct, soon all seven Kingdoms will bow to _our _kind of beauty. Dark locks will be in fashion again. After all they will carry the crown of Erebor soon."

Algun shook her head in amusement.

"Let me take you to our Halls, Aunt," Algun said. "I'm afraid they won't be as extravagant as your home."

"Thanks to my dear Mother no doubt." Lady Solrun wrinkled her nose. "She's so fond of 'practical bareness.'"

Algun looped her arm through her Aunt's. Lady Solrun was much taller than her niece, and she had to lean significantly to whisper into Algun's ear, "How come no one's staring? Don't they know whose Aunt I am?"

Algun snickered and gave her Aunt a cheeky look askance.

"Northerners, Aunt. What do you expect? They are all about bareness and practicality. Everyone is quite stern here."

"Mahal help me, I'm not going to enjoy this place, am I?"

* * *

Algun knocked and the maid opened the door to their Halls. The girl's jaw slacked at the view of Lady Solrun. The maid was from the Erebor Dwarves, and she grew up in Blue Mountains. A dame in a colourful attire, with gems shining in her hair and even on the hem of her cloak, her cheeks and lips rouged was quite a sight.

"Oh, I see now what you mean by practical and stern," Lady Solrun drew out looking the aid over. "Algun dear, tell me your King is better attired than his subjects."

The maid croaked.

"Of course he is," Algun answered with a giggle. "_I_ dress him."

The Dwarven lady gave out a silver laugh.

"Indeed."

She walked in and took off her cloak. The travelling dress and the trousers underneath it were of burgundy velvet, rubies shining in the brocade on the bodice and on the buckle of her belt.

"I feel exhausted. Don't let me see my disheveled wan self before I have a proper bath," Lady Solrun announced dramatically.

"You're your usual gaurish self. Spare us your palaver," Mistress Frotha's voice came from the door.

Lady Solrun burst into careless laughter.

"I'll take this a compliment, amad."

She approached the healer and kissed her outstretched hand.

"You look well, amad," she said warmly, and the healer dropped the feigned derisive expression and pressed her daughter to her chest.

"I'm joyous to see you, _kurkaruke_," she said and stroked the lady's silky locks.

"Well met, amad."

The women broke the embrace, and Lady Solrun stepped back.

"Well, if there is no hope for a bath, could have something to eat at least?" She threw her locks behind her shoulder. "And all the news and gossip of course. Tell me, my little raven," she purred turning to Algun, "Is the King's beard as thick as they say?"

"Mahal save us, she hasn't changed a bit," Mistress Frotha grumbled, and looked at Algun whose face was burning. "Send for a tray for your Aunt, and start thinking what to answer. But don't hope to weasel out of this conversation. Your Aunt is like a hog searching for acorns when it comes to… beards."

Algun and Solrun started giggling, and even the healer's lips curled up. Algun felt a surge of love for her small family. She'd been feeling rather lonely recently. The friends who'd travelled with her from the West now had their own matters to attend - and, more importantly, painfully unexpectedly to her, many had started treating her differently since her courtship with the King started. There was reverence in people's attitude now, but distance grew between her and her peers. And as much as it was a jest when she'd said it to her Aunt, Algun indeed found Erebor Dwarves colder than her kin. There were fewer embraces, less loud laughter, fewer revels. Algun missed the cordiality and the passion of the Dwarves of the West.

* * *

It was half an hour into the dinner with the King when Algun was reminded of the saying, 'smoke presages a dragon.'

The conversation between the King, Lady Solrun, and Siginirak had started rather stiffly; but what was to be expected? People who didn't know Algun's Aunt tended to be intimidated or irritated by her boisterous demeanour, while Algun's Greataunt was known for her abrupt brisk manners. Although, Algun didn't expect their characters to clash with the King's _that_ much.

"But what of those who do not wish to move back into Erebor? Who wish to stay in the Blue Mountains?" Lady Solrun asked, decorously dabbing her lips with a napkin, continuing to 'interrogation' of the King that had been going on for the last ten minutes. "Will they be relocated forcefully?"

The King gave her a displeased look.

"Why would they? They have the right to do whatever they want."

"But you can't possibly leave several clans behind!" Algun's Aunt widened her eyes. "You'll be creating a schism. And if not, you won't be able to assist them if need comes."

A deeper, darker frown creased the King's brow.

"Neither seems probable," he grumbled and lifted his goblet to his lips.

"'Neither seems probable?'" Lady Solrun repeated and scoffed. "That is an unexpectedly short-sighted outlook from such a praised politician such as yourself. _Both_ are probable. Both scenarios have taken place among my people, and-"

"_Your_ people?" the King interrupted raising his voice. "You are a Khuzd. We are all the _same_ people."

"I am a Blacklock. Same as Algun," Lady Solrun said defiantly. "And I have studied the history of our clans for the longest time, so-"

Lady Solrun stopped and drew a sharp breath in.

"I can see you're not interested in continuing the conversation with me, my lord." Her tone was venomous. "You seem to be… vexed by my judgement."

Algun turned to the King expecting him to reassure her Aunt. No remark from him followed. Algun felt irritation rise in her. Even if he indeed felt 'vexed,' the polite thing would be to deny it and to veer the conversation onto some other subject!

The rest of the dinner passed in silence, scarcely interrupted by a few unenthusiastic exchanges.

When the meal was over, all four of them sat down by the fireplace, and the King started on his pipe. Lady Solrun was fond of smoking as well, she preferred the cherry flavoured leaf from the South; but this day she chose to abstain. Siginirak was already filling the room with the thick potent smoke from her favourite quarter pot.

A few minutes later Lady Solrun excused herself and stepped to the further wall. Siginirak soon joined her. Such were the traditional proceedings, to give the courting couple some time to speak more freely. Except, Algun didn't quite feel inclined to do so.

"Have you read the volume that I've mentioned last time?"

The King's voice was perfectly mundane and amicable; and Algun looked at him in irked confusion. She didn't quite feel like having their habitual discussion of Erebor history, which she understood she was expected to be familiar with, after his disrespectful and insensitive behaviour towards her Aunt!

"I didn't get a chance, I'm afraid," she answered reluctantly. "I've been preoccupied with many orders."

"I highly recommend it," the King insisted; and Algun took a measured breath.

"I could also ask my Aunt for advice on what books to read. You might not know it, but she's a prominent loremaster, and-"

"Erebor has its own loremasters," the King dismissed.

"I'm not sure you understand, my lord. I do not mean it's a hobby of hers. She has studied under the best loremasters of the West, and is often consulted on political and historical matters."

The King made an offhanded hum like noise and went back to his pipe. The conversation seemed to be over - to Algun's complete chagrin. Apparently, herself and her Aunt and the latter's profound knowledge had been thrown aside like spurious coins, without as much as any consideration and investigation.

The King smoked. Algun fumed. Suffice to say, the evening was over prematurely.


	19. Back Under His Roof

Thorin didn't get any news about the girl for another fortnight. Two notes from Nori came, both stating that the Dwarf was nowhere near uncovering the truth. And then one day Thorin was sitting in his study reading a letter from his kin in the Blue Mountains, when a courtier knocked at his door and entered. The Dwarf hesitated, shifting his weight between his feet.

"Well?" Thorin asked.

"My lord, there is-" The Dwarf cleared his throat. "Mistress Frotha, the chief healer, sent me to you to inform you that… that Master Eoren is in the infirmary."

"What?"

Thorin rose sharply.

"She said he was Master Eoren, the emissary from Dale, and to tell you he was in the infirmary. She told me to… Pardon, my lord, she said you'd want to know and… she told me to 'fetch' you, but I obviously cannot-"

Thorin walked by the courtier and out of the room immediately forgetting about the Dwarf. He almost ran through the passages, and several times a servant or a guard would as much as jump out of his way.

* * *

She sat on the bed, and the first thing he noticed was how much longer her hair was since he'd last seen her. She also looked thinned, pale, almost as sickly as she had been in Mirkwood. She was covered with eiderdown from her waist down, and his gaze fell on her hands lying on it. They were bandaged so much that they looked as if she wore thick mittens.

She lifted her face, and he saw her eyes widen at his view.

"My lord," Mistress Frotha greeted him, and he only then noticed the healer.

The healer stood by the table, a few matrons mixing some balms and draughts near her. Thorin frowned.

"What happened?" Thorin addressed the girl, and her face scrunched in an uncertain grimace.

"I beg forgiveness, my lord," she whispered.

Thorin's eyes were roaming her, and he noticed blue bruises on her neck.

"I didn't know where else to go-" she continued, and his eyes jumped to her face.

"Don't be ridiculous! What's there to apologise for?" he barked. "Where have you been?!"

She blinked several times, as if shocked by his question.

"Master Svuir had sent for you more than two moons ago. Nori had been looking for you all over the city. Where have you been?" Thorin once again demanded an answer.

Suddenly she laughed. It was a silver gentle laugh, and it was his turn to stare at her aghast.

"I seem to always forget how kind and generous you are," she said and shook her head. "I should have known you'd accept my unusual appearance and aid me." She then met his eyes and he saw tears shine in her eyes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Thorin answered habitually, and then grumbled, "So where have you been?"

"It's such a long and… fantastic story-" she started.

"Which will have to wait till you have rest and recover some of your strength," Mistress Frotha interrupted authoritatively. "You have frostbite on your feet and hands, you're severely malnourished. You need medicine, hot soup, and to sleep."

Eorwyn threw Thorin a questioning look. He nodded.

"Have rest. You'll tell me everything _tomorrow_," he said giving a pointed glare to the healer.

The healer made a small scoffing noise.

"I'll send a messenger to you, my lord, when our patient recovers _sufficiently_ to have such conversation," the Dwarven dame said.

"Oh it won't be a very distressing conversation," the girl interjected eagerly. "It could have been so much worse! And I have gotten out after all!"

Thorin didn't share the sentiment. To him, she looked battered, half-dead from possible starvation, and the blue and yellow bruises on her white skin made his stomach churn.

"Rest, Master Eoren-" he said, and the healer made another snorting noise near him.

"You are aware that we had to examine the _young lady_ here, aren't you?" Mistress Frotha said. "I could ask the matrons to keep the secret. But I hardly see why we have to."

"Well, you see, if the Men of Dale find out-" the girl readily started the explanation.

"Tsk-tsk-tsk, I do not need this story at the moment." The healer shook her finger in the air. "I can see you're a chatty little thing. You'll have plenty of chances to tell me. And now, take your medicine and rest."

Thorin met the girl's gaze again, and she gave him a shy smile. He said his goodbyes and left.

* * *

His thoughts kept straying to the girl in the infirmary all day. In the evening he was supposed to have another dinner with Algun, this time with his relations. He was still finishing his day's correspondence when Balin entered his study with a knock.

"You ought to get ready," Balin said with a chuckle.

Thorin looked up at the old Dwarf from the parchment on the table.

"What were your impressions from Lady Solrun, Mistress Algun's Aunt?" Balin asked.

Thorin made a disgruntled noise.

"A renowned beauty! Quite exquisite, I've heard. I've only seen the portraits," Balin drew out, his face moony. "They say her hair is as black as the raven's feather."

"I haven't noticed," Thorin grumbled.

"Haven't you?" Balin asked with that irritating squint of his. "The niece outshines the aunt, I assume." Balin chuckled again. "For the last twenty years Lady Solrun's been refusing marriage proposals. Her betrothed died in an Orc raid, and she is a zealot, so you can imagine..."

Thorin was putting his quills away. He stopped and looked at Balin again.

"A zealot?"

"The zealots of the West, have you heard of them? Their faith in Mahal the Maker is stricter and more demanding than that of the other Khazad. They attend more frequent services, their clerics are more involved into their daily lives."

Thorin had heard of the zealots of course, but the spirituals matters interested him little.

"My Queen will just have to convert," he said with a shrug.

"That is indeed to be expected," Balin agreed. His tone was pointed, nonetheless. "But it also shouldn't be ignored carelessly."

Thorin once again chose to leave Balin's hints without an answer. He locked his escritoire and rose.

"Lady Dis is arriving next week," the old Dwarf said. "Do you think a dinner with both families is in order?"

Thorin looked at the man askance, and then laughed.

"I see, _you _think the dinner is in order. Have those portraits of Lady Solrun impressed you so deeply?" Thorin asked sarcastically.

"I'm an old man, Thorin. If Lady Solrun ever decides to give up her celibacy oath, it won't be for me. And many better men tried. Her faith never allowed her to give up her obligations towards her late betrothed."

"No wonder she has so much time on her hands," Thorin muttered under his nose.

"Lady Solrun is one of the most generous patrons of the orphaned families in the West, Thorin," Balin said softly. "They had sent many troops to Moria, to fight along with your Grandfather. Too few of them returned."

"How about I advocate your candidacy with the lady's niece and Mother? They will listen to me," Thorin said half-jesting.

Balin barked a laugh.

"Firstly, laddie, do not fool yourself. You have no influence on the women. And secondly, there is no use even trying to offer one's candidacy. Not to a woman like her."

Thorin gave Balin another sardonic look and rose.

It was time to get ready for dinner. He wasn't looking forward to it, he realised suddenly. Whatever Balin said, Lady Solrun annoyed him. Algun didn't seem like herself near her either. She was quieter, less flirtatious, and seemed unwilling to continue the conversation they had enjoyed during their previous meetings. Hopefully, Lady Solrun's presence wouldn't last too long.


	20. Beads and Tunes

He was allowed to see her the next day around noon. He couldn't come to the infirmary right after the messenger had found him, there were matters to attend in the forges before he could go. So, when he showed up an hour later, she was sitting on the bed and was spoon fed by a young attendant. The healer looked flustered when he came in, while the girl smiled widely and joyously.

"You should finish your meal," Thorin said awkwardly, considering leaving, and she immediately protested.

"I'm done. Thank you, Master Balar," she addressed the healer.

The boy jumped to his feet and as much as ran to the door.

"My lord," he muttered and quickly closed the door behind him.

Thorin approached her bed and sat on the chair the healer had occupied before.

"How are you feeling?" he asked looking her over.

She smiled at him.

"I'm quite alright. I slept so well. The eiderdown is so fluffy!" She patted the covers with her bandaged hands. "And I had so much food since I've been brought to the infirmary!" She giggled. "I've heard they stuff fowl for roasting in rich houses. I feel like one of those birds."

Thorin couldn't help but laugh as well.

"They usually feed those hens for months before chopping their heads off," he said, raising an eyebrow. "You'd make quite a scarce supper, my lady."

"It's true," she agreed easily. It was her turn to scrutinise his face. "How are you faring, my lord? I've heard the joyous news, the healers have shared it with me."

"News?" he asked.

"Aye, of your betrothal. Not that it was in any way unexpected- Do Dwarves congratulate each other with betrothal?" she interrupted herself. "If it's not spoken of, I apologise."

"It is spoken of," he reassured her. "And I accept your congratulations." He returned her warm smile. "So, what had happened to you, my lady? Master Svuir had been worried for you."

Her lips parted in a shocked expression.

"Master Svuir was worried for me?!" Her voice broke. "Surely, he hasn't even noticed I didn't come back for my lessons..."

"He approached me personally at a revel and demanded your return." Thorin laughed at how her jaw slacked in bewilderment. "He put me in quite an awkward position in front of several emissaries from the Iron Hills."

"Oh no!" she gasped and pressed her hands to her cheeks.

He guffawed, and she shook her head.

"I am so very sorry for this! What a conundrum!"

"Do not worry," Thorin said still chuckling. "Everyone is so terrified of the old demon they just stood there unable to comprehend or react." He gave her a cheeky glance. "You've somehow bewitched the old man. It must be that clever mind of yours."

"I did no such thing!" she answered, her eyes still widened and palms pressed to her cheeks.

"Of course you did. You're the first person he's ready to tolerate near his quills and volumes. Don't make light of your achievement."

Teasing her was so very entertaining. She was surely clever to understand he was jesting - and yet he could see how candid and open she was towards his words. He didn't reject his present life of peace and decorum, being surrounded by the court, the veneration he was met with - but there was something endlessly refreshing in her manners towards him. He couldn't - and didn't bother to - give it a name, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

"I know you're simply making fun of me," she said and probably shook her finger at him. At least so it seemed by how she waved her bandaged hand in the air.

There it was, that something in her behaviour! No one ever shook fingers at him! Thorin grinned.

"And still, even though you're exaggerating and mocking me, I still think Master Svuir should be informed that I have returned. I'd write him an apology note, but-"

She lifted her both hands now, and it brought his thoughts back onto her predicament.

"No more blathering," he said, and she stopped with her hands mid-air. "Out with your story!"

She snorted at his feigned irked tone and decorously folded her 'mitten hands' on the eiderdown.

"I fell ill, when I left Erebor last time," she said, and he nodded.

Guilt stirred in his mind, she'd surely caught the disease from him. He'd been bedridden then, she'd come to say her goodbyes and insisted he ate some sort of broth. He'd been muddled and burning, but he remembered the care she'd shown for him. He'd eaten then, and then his lids had felt so heavy, and she'd been saying something comforting - and he'd fallen asleep. When he'd woken up, refreshed and much stronger, she'd already gone.

"I went to the town infirmary. I was still hoping to preserve my secret, so I thought they would just give me some herbs and I could go back to my room and hide till I'd recover. But I was too fevered, as it turned out." She sighed. "I collapsed not too far from the infirmary and was brought in. I do not know what happened next, but then… I woke up in an unfamiliar place."

Humour was gone from her eyes now. She chewed her bottom lip, and then continued, "It was a house of one of the healers. She… she stole me from the infirmary and hid me there. You see, she'd lost her daughter in the dragon fire, and… she was confused." Her gaze grew distant, lingering on the opposite wall. "She thought I was her daughter. She kept calling me Sefi."

"I tried to escape," she added after a pause. "Several times. The first few… she dragged me back into that cellar. I was too weak to fight her."

Thorin realised he'd been fisting his hand on his lap only when she turned to him and softly touched his knuckles.

"She didn't abuse me in any way. She wasn't cruel. She was just a woman driven to madness by her grief." This time the smile on her lips was full of sadness. "She fed me, and she only took away my clothes because I tried to run away. After a couple times, she tied me to the bed. Thus... these." She showed him the bruises around her wrists and forearms. "And then I managed to untie them, and I broke the window. It was tiny, but just as you said, I'm no plum hen." She almost laughed again, with a shy glance at him. "I crawled out and ran. But I was worried to go back to the Town Hall or my rooms. I couldn't know if my secret was still safe. And so I came to Erebor."

"You walked to Erebor without clothes and proper boots?" he asked slowly.

"It wasn't the most clever idea, I agree-"

"I'd call it dim," he interrupted, "except you _are_ here. You didn't freeze to death, and you're among friends."

A smile bloomed on her lips.

"Just don't try to cross the Lake on your bare feet again," he grumbled.

"I promise," she said eagerly; and he shook his head in disbelief.

"You're tougher than you look, I reckon. It's a long walk across the Lake."

"And only in a thin chemise! To think of it now, I was fortunate I made it here. Perhaps, being discovered and forced to give up my vocation and marry someone would be a wiser choice..." She hummed feigning pensiveness. "Oh no, I'd rather freeze!" she exclaimed and laughed gleefully.

"Is that what you think would happen to you were your identity uncovered?" Thorin asked.

"Aye. Women of Men aren't supposed to be 'weighmasters.' And since I have no other skill, I expect a service in a household or a quick marriage would be my only option." She shook her head. "But I have to admit I had acted half-consciously. All I could think of was how kindly I had been treated in your Mountain..." She gave him a quick jolly side glance. "And of the excellent meals I'd been given here. All that poor woman could provide me with was fish soup and stale bread."

She then looked down at her hands and sighed.

"Men are starving, my lord. The trade is slow to resume. The old trade routes have been long abandoned, and now people have even less to build their lives on."

Thorin felt a prickle of irritation. He knew matters were worse for Men than for his people - but he was the King Under the Mountain. The Laketown was none of his concern.

She peeked at him.

"Don't frown, please. I'm not advocating their needs. I don't presume my opinion matters," she said apologetically. "Such is life after war and other calamities. If only they had a wiser King..."

Thorin chuckled.

"Do they not?"

"King Bard is… too kind. Numbers don't tolerate big hearts."

"You're quoting Master Svuir!" he exclaimed incredulously, and she snickered. "He's known to say that to his pupils, at least the ones who survived his classes for longer than a moon."

"I am. He was kind enough to translate the inscription on his abacus for me." Her eyes shone brightly. "It is such a beautiful piece. A work of art! I'd only heard of the Dwarven abacus before coming here. An ingenious design! And his are ivory and onyx. Oh the click of the ivory beads!"

She once again pressed her hands to her cheeks, and he watched her amused. She looked almost… enamoured. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked lively and charming.

"So you think the Bargeman is the root of the problem?" he asked.

He did think so, but he hadn't expected a woman of Men to renounce the Bargeman so easily.

"He hasn't gotten one strong counsellor in charge of trade. And it would be wise to have two, one specifically for the trade with Erebor and Mirkwood, and another one to establish the liaison with other lands, to ensure a constant supply of whatever the farmlands around Dale and the two neighbouring Kingdoms can't provide. And-"

She abruptly stopped and grew pale, just as she had when she'd spoken up about Dwarven measurements in his first negotiations with Bard. Clearly, she'd realised she'd been talking assuredly of matters of trade between Kingdoms. She was seventeen, and of low birth, and she was in no position to judge - but he suddenly realised he didn't mind. Her words made sense, and she knew the trade well enough, he decided.

A certain plan came to his mind. He needed to discuss it with Master Svuir, and she needed to recover and to study more, but perhaps there was a way to help the Men without giving up any resources of his Kingdom. He just needed the right person telling the Bargeman what to do.

And then he noticed that she'd been sitting very quietly, mortified by her own loose tongue. And he guffawed and shook his head.

"You certainly lack one skill, 'Master Eoren,'" he said.

"Which one?" she asked immediately.

He looked her over warmly and smiled.

"The skill of trusting yourself. If only those who knew less and thought more of themselves were as modest as you."

He rose, suddenly in an excellent mood, and gave her a ceremonious bow. She gawked at him, her lips parted again.

"I think I have exhausted you enough. You should rest, my lady," he said. "I'll visit you tomorrow. We'll talk more about abaci and King Bard."

He turned around and walked out of her room, feeling her perplexed gaze on his back. The courtier he met in the passage minutes later looked no less puzzled. Apparently, he didn't expect to see his King whistling a merry tune.


	21. Just Say Thank You

For the next eight days Eorwyn stayed in the Erebor infirmary, and she was still confined to her bed. The third day she was moved to a large hall, where more beds stood, but they were all empty. Apparently, the infirmary had just been renovated, but most of the patients weren't moved to it yet. Eorwyn once again stopped sleeping well, just as she always did in larger rooms, but she obviously kept her torment to herself.

She suffered through the first day silently, but since she was repeatedly asked if she needed anything else, she finally gathered courage and asked Balar, her attendant, for some books to read. Mid-day of the second day she had fully mastered flipping pages with her bandaged hands. After that, she had to admit, she was having the best time of her life: she was allowed to read as much as she wanted, she was safe, warm, and fed. She would almost regret that the bandages were removed except she was getting frustrated with the limitations of making the calculations for her mental math exercises in her mind. She missed having a quill and parchment to make notes.

Finally, the healers removed all bandages from the left hand, which was affected less, and left a narrow one across her right palm. She was told she could now rise but she was to rest and stay indoors. Apparently, she once again had managed to exhaust her body's strength. She had awkwardly joked that she'd never had any - but the jest was clearly unappreciated by the severe chief healer. Eorwyn was mildly terrified of the Dwarf matron and decided to keep her mouth shut after this.

Balar came the morning of her release with her breakfast. While he was setting her tray on the side table, Eorwyn was staring at the wall.

"Are you alright, my lady?"

His question made her jerk, and she met his eyes.

"I'm… not," she answered with a sigh. "To be honest, I'm not sure what I am supposed to do now. Now, that I'm feeling better. Where am I to go?" She shook her head and smiled at him apologetically. "Pardon me, Balar, it is not your preoccupation, of course. I spoke out of turn."

The young Dwarf looked her over.

"Aren't you an emissary from the Men, my lady?" he asked confused.

Eorwyn laughed.

"Such sentence would never fall from the lips of a Man. A _lady_ can't be an emissary." She sighed again. "So, nay, Balar, I am not. I don't really know _what_ I am at the moment. I don't even have clothes of my own. If I am to leave Erebor now, I doubt that nightdress I had come here in was preserved."

"It was probably burnt, to prevent possible illnesses from spreading," the Dwarf answered. "Pardon me."

Eorwyn nodded sadly.

The Dwarf shifted awkwardly, then bowed to her, and left. Eorwyn sat for a few seconds and then reminded herself that self-pity never helped any situation. She knew not what fate had in the books for her. The meal she had in front of her could be her last one in a long time, she thought, just as many previous times she'd been thrown into a new calamity. She might as well fill her stomach. Maiar knew, when she'd eat so well again.

The day before the healers had told her she was well enough to leave. They had even given her a sachet of herbs to take away and a jar of balm to apply on her scars. She clearly wasn't expected to stay around.

She was finishing the second piece of bread, when a cough came from behind the curtain separating her cot from the rest of the hall.

"May I?" a familiar voice came, and Eorwyn froze with food behind her cheek.

The curtain moved, and the King's face showed up. He was smiling.

"Good day, Master Eoren."

Eorwyn swallowed loudly.

"My lord," she croaked, and he grinned even wider.

"I have a visitor for you."

The curtain wavered again, and Master Svuir stepped to her bed. Eorwyn suppressed a squeak. Unlike the King, the old Dwarf intimidated her to no end.

He looked her over, with his usual derisive frown.

"I see you are back," he said.

"I am," she squeaked, feeling like apologising but not knowing for what.

"For how long will you have to stay in the infirmary?" he asked, his expression sour.

"I was told I could leave any time today," she said and gave the King an uncertain look. "What is this about, my lord?"

"Do you want to come back to your studies or not?" Master Svuir asked suddenly.

She gawked at him. He sounded as if she'd been arguing or trying to talk her way out of it. She hadn't even known it was a possibility! The old Dwarf rolled his eyes and made a movement as if he was going to leave.

"Yes!" she as much as shouted. "Oh yes, please! I would love that very much! So much! More than anything!" She then folded her hands pleadingly and threw the King a begging look. "Please, could I?!"

The Dwarf barked a short laugh and nodded.

"I thought you'd want that," he said with a cheeky smile.

"I do! So much-"

"More than anything, yes, so we've just heard," Master Svuir said in a bored voice. "I don't see what I was brought here for, my lord. You could have delivered the joyful news yourself."

The old man threw another look over Eorwyn, nodded to the King, and walked away, heavily leaning on his cane.

The King and Eorwyn watched him and then the curtain that closed behind him, and then the King laughed.

"I talked to him this morning about this one idea of mine, and then I mentioned I was going to visit you. Don't let him deceive you," he said with a small lopsided smile, "He couldn't wait to see how you were faring. Didn't take my word for it, that you were better."

Eorwyn gave him an incredulous look.

"You're teasing me again!"

"I always seem to, but there is a grain of truth in all my jokes."

He sat on the chair near her bed.

"He worried." He gently patted her hand on the bed near her. "So, what are you going to do now? Besides going back to your studies?"

She looked at him bewildered. "I… don't know. A few minutes ago it seemed that I would have to leave Erebor, or beg to stay and seek some work here. I don't even have clothes!" she once again exclaimed.

Somehow it seemed upsetting to her, and she bit into her bottom lip to take her affliction under control.

The King gave her a warm look over and folded his arms on his chest.

"I'll be honest with you. I was coming here feeling like a hero. I was bringing you the news of Master Svuir agreeing to teach you more and I was going to offer you rooms, board, and gold-"

"I can't accept it!" she exclaimed, and he laughed softly.

"Exactly. Of course you can't. You're a proud little bird, aren't you?"

Her eyebrows jumped up from this odd familiar tone of his, and he smiled widely. There were little crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and despite the suffocating anxiety she felt she couldn't help but notice how handsome he was, with his thick dark beard and the white teeth gleaming in the smile.

"You have a strange effect on me, my lady," he drew out, and squinted, as if trying to determine something about her.

She looked at him in shock.

"You make me… perceptive," he said with a chuckle. He seemed endlessly pleased with himself. "I was going to shower you with good news and gifts, but on my way here I suddenly thought, 'Would I accept them in her place?'"

"You wouldn't," she said firmly.

"No, I wouldn't," he said with a nod. "But I would accept a… loan."

"A loan?"

"Aye. Sort of an advance for when you take the position suiting you."

Eorwyn's head started to spin.

"What position?! And how much of a… loan?"

The King gave out a deep laugh.

"Once a bookkeeper, always a bookkeeper, aren't you, Master Eoren?" He gave her a lopsided smile. "I will lend you a small sum, enough to pay for a room and board in the High Halls. It won't be luxurious, but many of the apprentices live there. And once Master Svuir decides it's time, you will be able to choose a position for yourself in the Erebor bookkeepers guild."

Eorwyn pressed her bandaged right hand to her forehead, trying to rein down her thrashing thoughts.

"But... why? And how will I- What if I can't repay you?! And I'm no Dwarf! And-"

Her breath caught, and she gulped air with an open mouth. The King watched her squawk and jerk with an amused expression, but she reckoned she was starting to look close to fainting, since he leaned forward with a concerned face.

"My lady-"

"Why?!" The question erupted out of Eorwyn, and she grabbed his hand with her two. "Why are you so kind to me?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" he asked.

Eorwyn leaned closer as well, searching his face. He was frowning now, and she immediately worried he misunderstood her.

"Please, my lord, do know I _am_ grateful! So very grateful! And I will accept your kindness. Maiar help me, how can I not? I just-"

"You will not owe me anything," he said and tried to pull his hand back.

Eorwyn squeezed it harder. The palm was wide and rough, fingers strong and scorching. Eorwyn had never before been that acutely aware of a physical contact.

"I do not expect anything from you. It is not a machination," he said gravely. "I suppose, you were just…" His face lit up as if with a fortunate idea. "Lucky."

"Lucky?"

"Aye." He nodded looking satisfied with his words. "I won't pretend, my lady. I'm not a generous person. Especially not towards your kind." He chuckled. "But our paths crossed, and I got to know you. And I have the ability to help. Why wouldn't I then? You deserve every bit of it."

Eorwyn still held his large hand in hers. Her lips quivered but she took her emotions under control. One more thing worried her.

"But I'm no Dwarf. Is this allowed? For me to become Master Svuir's apprentice?"

The King covered her hand with his other hand and pulled, making her almost bump her nose to his.

"I think it'll be 'allowed,'" he whispered. Eorwyn stared into his bright blue eyes. "Since it was the _King_'s idea," he finished.

Eorwyn grinned, and then laughed, and he joined her.

"You're wrong, though." She shook her head and exhaled. "I don't deserve this."

"Don't be coy," he murmured. "That noddle of yours made Old Svuir waddle through the whole Mountain to make sure you were alright. You'll do just fine."

He let go of her hands and leaned back in his chair.

"Maiar help me, I can't believe it's happening," she muttered.

"So, what will you start with?" he asked.

"With finding out what your interest rates are, my lord," she said and then gawked at him when he rolled with gleeful laughter. "But it's important! I need to make a plan, and-"

He was now guffawing so loudly that she closed her mouth sharply.

"Mahal be merciful, you're like an abacus yourself! I can just hear those beads… how did you put it? Clicking in your head." He wiggled his fingers near his temple. "But I can't say I disapprove. I'm a Dwarf after all. We shall talk interest in a moment, but first, tell me what will you do next?"

"I'll buy me a dress," Eorwyn said firmly, and the King's eyebrows jumped up.

The prospect suddenly filled Eorwyn with so much anticipation that she almost jumped off her cot.

"I know it's frivolous… but I haven't worn a dress in ten years! I'd been told to cut off my hair and to wear trousers and to forget who I was, and now-" She stopped herself and gave him an apologetic look. "It is trivial, I know."

"Perhaps," he shrugged, "But _I_ don't like to be told how to behave either."

Eorwyn laughed. "And you say you aren't perceptive! That's quite an insight, my lord."

The left corner of his lips curled up in a smirk.

"You bring out the best in me, Master Eoren."


	22. Dust

Algun walked one of the Eastern passages, when someone moved out from a side passage and a hand firmly wrapped around her upper arm. She jerked, and then her eyes met the bright blue eyes of the King Under the Mountain.

"Come," he whispered and pulled at her arm gently.

Algun hesitated for an instant, and then stepped after him into the dark corridor.

His fingers then wrapped around hers, and he walked quickly. The roll of silk she'd just purchased from a familiar merchant kept sliding from under her arm, and she had to pick it up again and again.

"How did you know where to find me?" she called after him quietly, and he quickly glanced over his shoulder.

"Maiden Halda told me you were running errands in these halls. It wasn't hard to deduce you'd be visiting the silk merchants." He looked her over, without slowing down. "Would you like me to carry your loot?"

Algun chuckled.

"No, thank you. It's brocaded satin from the South. I can't trust anyone with it."

He smirked, she could see half of his face.

"Not even me?"

"Not even you," she answered decisively. "It's for a dress of Mistress Nita, your treasurer. She's my most prominent patron."

He slowed down and measured his steps to hers. The passage was narrow, and her shoulder brushed at his.

"I thought I was your most prominent patron," he said and gave her a side glance.

"It is something we need to discuss, now that you've mentioned it, my lord. Now that we are engaged in a courtship I'm not sure we should-" Algun started, but he sharply leaned to her face, and she choked on her words.

"No talking shop today. We're running away, behaving inappropriately, and allowing ourselves frivolties."

Algun felt uneasy from how intense his gaze was. It was as if he were testing her, although she couldn't see what he could be trying to achieve.

"Do you wish to renegade? It's not too late to turn back," he said.

Her hand was still in his. He'd almost stopped now, as if to show that they could just turn around and go back. They indeed were 'behaving inappropriately and allowing themselves frivolties,' as he put it, alone in a dark passage, outside the official protocol of courtship. Half of Algun's mind protested such risky behaviour; other half was thrilled and curious.

"Where are we going?" she asked, arriving at a decision.

"I have something to show you. And don't worry, we won't be seen. It's not far, and no one uses these passages."

He picked up her hand firmer and started walking. She followed, struggling with the satin roll.

They walked a few minutes in silence, and then he stopped in front of a large door. It looked old, perhaps preserved from before the Dragon attack. He gave her a quick glance, and Algun's heart, already beating faster, fluttered.

The door opened with a loud screech, and Algun could see that it took him a significant effort to open it.

The chamber behind it was dark. The King let go of her hand, and she heard soft rustling noise. He was getting a tinderbox out of his pocket. She heard the noise of the flint and iron meet, a small flame flickered, and the King moved it to a lantern on the wall.

The weak light moved, then grew, and Algun looked around.

The room was dusty, crowded with shelves going up to the low ceiling, and small enough for Algun to see the opposite wall.

"Is this a… closet?" Algun asked looking around in shock.

"It is an archive. Of portrait tapestries," the King said with aplomb clearly proud of himself.

Algun gave the room and then the man a confused look.

"Portrait tapestries?"

"Of the Kings of the Erebor of the Old and the heads of prominent clans." The King nodded, looking pleased with himself.

Algun fixed her once again sliding purchase and waited for the King to elaborate.

He frowned and gave her a similarly questioning look back. Clearly, he wasn't receiving the reaction he'd been hoping for.

"To look at their attires?" The King finally understood she was waiting for him to continue. "It had been discovered last moon. I thought you'd want to know."

"Oh," Algun said flatly.

"Studying the history of the Erebor fashion will be beneficial for your efforts in your pursuits."

Algun sharply turned and looked at him tearing her eyes off the miserable looking shelves of tapestry rolls.

"Thank you, my lord," she said slowly. Nothing else came to her mind.

"You're welcome," he murmured and stepped closer to her.

He leaned to her face, his eyes half-lidded. And then Algun did what she'd never expected to: she moved away and placed a finger on his lips. Refusing him felt odd - and not because she'd thought she couldn't. She was brought up knowing that she could always take her consent back. She just had never thought she'd feel like refusing _him. _After all, she was infatuated with the man! And before, at any given moment she'd been fighting the desire to lock her lips with him, even when the rules of propriety advised against.

She felt no such thing at the moment. An unfortunate gift - an unattractive piece of jewellery, a book on an irrelevant subject, a basket of pears she always had a reaction to? Those she could easily disregard. But not him presuming that she'd be elated to receive this 'gift!' It was this absolute certainty of his that he knew what she needed for her _vocation_ that irked her! And after all, this wasn't a particularly romantic gesture! What was she supposed to do with this knowledge: that somewhere in the Mountain there was a small room with dusty filthy shelves and tapestries of long dead Dwarves? Algun had studied the fashion of the Khazad for many years, and she was still continuing her constant education, and to presume that she'd enjoy staring at the portraits she'd been aware of and could find nothing new in was quite… well, presumptuous.

He of course had the best intentions, and Algun was self-aware enough to understand that her vexation was hers alone and had everything to do with her own mood and nothing to do with the man who was standing in front of her as much as puckering his lips… and yet the bad mood was here, and Algun was hardly the person to force herself into empty politeness and unwanted dalliances.

The King seemed to have finally caught on her mood. His eyes opened, and he moved away.

They stood without speaking a word. Algun was fighting her irritation; the King was studying her face.

"Shall I leave you to it then?" he asked in a cold voice. "To familiarize yourself with the tapestries?"

She saw him press his lips in a thin line. There was also a frown, and Algun felt even more irked. Apparently he was displeased with her lack of gratitude and joy.

"Aye, please," she muttered.

He lingered for a moment, making her feel even worse - but not bad enough to fake enthusiasm regarding the 'gift' - and then he gave her a short bow and left.

Algun sighed and walked deeper into the room. Her throat started to itch, and her eyes were tearing. She pressed her sleeve to her face, and wondered if he'd know if she fled immediately.

* * *

When she returned to her halls, her Aunt was sitting by the fire smoking her pipe a large historic volume on her lap.

"That bad, was it?" she asked without lifting her eyes.

Algun flopped in an armchair in front of the Dwarven dame.

"Has he finally confessed then?" Lady Solrun asked and threw Algun a cheeky glance.

"Pardon?" Algun asked. "What does the King have to confess?"

"The King?" Lady Solrun raised an eyebrow. "What does the King have to do with anything? I mean that silk merchant who's sighing every time you enter his shop."

"I'm the King's betrothed, Aunt," Algun grumbled. "No one will dare to confess anything to me these days."

"Officially, before the bead exchange, either of you is free to explore other options."

Lady Solrun shrugged.

"I haven't changed my mind!" Algun bristled, and her Aunt burst into laughter.

"Your words, not mine. I just meant that you have other suitors, and plenty of them. _You _are the one mentioning changing your mind."

Algun groaned and dropped her head onto the back of the armchair.

"I haven't changed my mind, it's just… it just hasn't been a good day."

"Have you seen the King today then?" Lady Solrun asked.

Algun nodded. She sighed again and watched the flames dance in the fireplace.

"Do you think I'm making a mistake?" she asked quietly.

"No, definitely not," the Dwarven dame answered firmly.

Their eyes met, and Lady Solrun smiled.

"You aren't making a mistake because you aren't yet doing anything. It's all very much the beginning yet, my little crow. You have plenty of time to look, and ponder, and make decisions."

"But… you don't like him much, am I right?" Algun asked in a small voice.

"I'm not the one marrying him," Lady Solrun laughed. "And I like him alright. He's scrumptious."

Algun couldn't help but snort.

"Mahal, Aunt, that's not what I'm talking about!"

"Well, what are you talking about?" The woman exhaled a thick smoke ring. "He's a King, but I can't see how that's a trouble. You will make an excellent Queen, if you apply yourself. As for the man behind that crown… I just have to repeat, I am not the one marrying - or not marrying him."

Algun continued staring at the ceiling.

"Is this the silk you were after?" Lady Solrun asked.

Algun looked down at the roll she was still clutching.

"It is. And no, before you ask, the merchant hasn't confessed. But he had to recalculate the price twice, he was so distracted, poor duckling," Algun said, and they both laughed.

"And now I'm going to take a very long bath," Algun drew out. "I feel like I'll never wash out this dust from my hair."

"What dust?"

"Don't ask," Algun grumbled, got up, and plodded into her chamber.

_End of Part II_


	23. Skipping School

_Part III_

_Four moons later…_

Eorwyn knocked on the door of Master Svuir's study, balancing a stack of books on one arm. With pleasure she noticed that the arm didn't shake, despite carrying three volumes of Dwarven algebraic knowledge, a book on the history of trade in the North, and a box of writing utensils perched on top. She had been feeling so much stronger and more capable these days, after all the delicious Dwarven meals and restful sleep in the quarters she shared with four Dwarven maidens. She then reminded herself to buy more ink, and started quickly calculating if she had enough silver to do so. She'd been frugal with the loan that she'd received from the Dwarven King, and she'd been tutoring a few of her fellow apprentices. To be honest, she presently had most financial security she'd ever had in her life; and still, every time she needed to spend even the smallest copper coin she'd go through all her finances. After all, she knew so very well how easily and swiftly life could turn!

"Have you frozen like the lake there, Master Eoren?" Master Svuir's voice came from behind the door.

Eorwyn jerked, flailed her arms, and dropped all her belongings. The Dwarf never tolerated any delay, and she was expected to come in after his very quiet 'Aye?' She'd probably missed it this time, lost in her thoughts.

"Have you fallen dead there?" she heard him again.

"No, no, I just- Just a moment!" she shouted, grabbing her quills and chasing the ink bottle that was escaping along the passage. "Oh bother! Bother! Bother! Bother!" she muttered.

"Here," a soft voice came, and in front of her nose she first saw a boot, and then a hand with the ink bottle.

She recognised the hand immediately. Her eyes flew up to the face of the Dwarven King.

"Morning, my lord," she said, grabbed the bottle, and rushed back to the door to pick up her books. "It all fell, and he's already angry, and-" she said over her shoulder, crawling on the floor, and heard a low chuckle from him.

He bent down, they both straightened up, and he handed her one of the books.

"I quite fancy that you're more scared of him than turning your… back to the King," he said, with one of those warm smirks of his, and she gave him a quick attentive look to make sure he indeed 'fancied' it.

"Well?!" Master Svuir yelled from behind the door, and Eorwyn squeezed her eyes shut.

Worrying both about whether she'd offended the King and about Master Svuir's displeasure with her at the same time was excruciating.

"Here, let me save you," the King said, and she felt his hand lay on her shoulder.

She opened one eye and saw him smile widely.

He pushed the door open and stepped in, softly leading her inside.

"I've delayed your favourite pupil, Master Svuir," the King said lightly, and Eorwyn looked at the Bookkeeper.

One white eyebrow crawled up in a sardonic manner.

"Would you like to take her altogether? She clearly much prefers your company to mine," he said venomously and went back to whatever calculations he was doing, his quill dancing on a parchment on his desk.

Eorwyn sighed. Now the Dwarf would be in a foul mood all day, and she'd have to endure his snide he'd generously weave into his teachings, which would make her studies times harder. She always had trouble separating herself from others' moods.

"I'd very much prefer that, to be frank," the King said, and Eorwyn whipped her head to look at him.

He was giving her a small smile, his shoulders slightly shaking in a suppressed laughter. Eorwyn's jaw slacked.

"What say you, my lady? I'd be honoured to snatch you for a day. I have some trade contracts I could use help with," he said, and then, as if to completely flabbergast her, he gave her a conspiratorial wink.

Eorwyn swallowed loudly.

"Master Eoren has a lesson today."

Master Svuir's tone was cold. Eorwyn had to point out he had looked away from his writing now.

"Oh well, it's a pity then," the King drew out. "But surely, if _you_ are willing," he addressed Eorwyn, "you could spare me a day."

Eorwyn's head spun. On one hand, she couldn't possibly skip her lesson! On the other hand, it was the _King_ offering! On the third hand, which she knew wasn't an actual expression, he was _offering, _not ordering! She could see that he was just frolicking, in his own way offering his support, in case she wanted to defy Master Svuir. And to be honest, she did want to! With all the respect and devotion she felt towards the old Dwarf, he did have his moods and sometimes his manners boarded to abusive!

If only she could know whether the King was offered sincerely! She wouldn't want to take him on his proposition only to find out it was done out of pure pity.

And to only add to her internal fretting, she suddenly imagined how lovely it would be to spend a day doing something else besides being schooled and insulted!

"What contracts do you need my help with, my lord?" she said quietly.

If he couldn't answer that, then there were no contracts. And he was just pitying her, and she was grateful, because that still taught Master Svuir a small lesson, but-

"They have to do with the Sovereign Grant. Mistress Nita never has time to look at my personal investments. I can manage them in general, but the math is too advanced for me when it comes to the interest rate on my land property." The King shrugged. "So, will you help?"

"Aye, my lord," she said and smiled with relief. "Pardon me, Master Svuir, I'll return as soon as I'm done."

She had tried to keep the small petty triumph she felt out of her voice - but some of it sneaked in. Master Svuir narrowed his eyes.

"That'll be quite alright, _my lord_," he said to the King and once again lowered his eyes to his work.

Eorwyn quickly curtsied and dashed to the door. The King followed her.

* * *

"How are you still going?!" the King exclaimed and fell back into his chair with a groan.

Eorwyn looked up from the parchments they'd been working on.

"Pardon?" she asked, her quill frozen in her hand.

"We've been through these numbers three times!" he grumbled. "My head hurts."

"Would you like us to take a break, my lord?" she asked, ready to jump up to her feet. "I could come back later, if you-"

"We should eat," he said and rocked back in his tall chair, on its two bacl legs.

He stretched, grabbed the velvet ribbon on the wall, and jerked it sharply. The bell rang somewhere far away in the passages. He then rocked back and landed at the desk again, with a loud bang of the chair legs on the stone floor.

From the sharp noises and the irked expression on his face, Eorwyn tensed and clenched her teeth in unease. She started to quickly sand the calculations on her parchment and pack the writing utensils. The King was silent.

A courtier came with a tray.

"We'll need another meal prepared," the King threw to him.

The Dwarf nodded, placed the tray on the desk in front of the King, and left. Eorwyn sat perfectly still in her chair, her back straight, utterly unsure what she was supposed to do.

The King picked up a plate from the tray and started loading potatoes and meat from a large clay terrine. He hissed when his wrist brushed at its handle, and Eorwyn winced.

He then thrust the plate towards her and gave her an expectant look. She looked at the plate and then at him.

"Well?" he said in the same peeved tone.

Eorwyn slowly took the plate, still with a ridiculous doubt in her mind that that was what he expected her to do. He then took the small plate with the bread slices on it, dumped half of them on Eorwyn's plate with the same grumpy expression on his face, and plated some stew on it. He then took his fork and started eating quickly, biting large pieces from a slice of bread. Erowyn was still frozen watching him.

And then suddenly snorty laughter burst out of her, and she had to press her hand over her mouth to control it.

He looked up at her, still chewing, and lifted his left eyebrow questioningly.

"You're vexed when you're hungry!" The words burst out of her, and immediately mortified she clasped the hand over her mouth again.

The King blinked and stared at her.

"Oh I'm so sorry, that was so impudent, I'm so-" she started muttering anxiously.

"I'm a man, my lady," the King interrupted. He sat straighter and put his fork down. "We need to be fed to be… affable."

Eorwyn giggled. She could see now that he was jesting - by the small crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and the corners of his lips twitching.

"And I apologise if I was behaving 'vexed,'" he added, smiling now.

"No apology needed." Eorwyn smiled back. "I'm just relieved I hadn't been the reason for your displeasure."

"No, just my empty stomach." He picked up his fork again. "I reckon my mind is like a machine with unoiled cogs when it comes to this sort of math." He pointed at the parchments. "Not everyone has your aptitude for it. It's exhausting!" he said with a chuckle.

"For me it's a pleasure! It's almost like... dancing!" Eorwyn exclaimed and finally started on her food.

The stew was delicious.

"Dancing?" the King said between bites. "I'd rather dig a ditch or do some washing up."

Eorwyn snickered and gave him a cheeky glance.

"I was going to point out that you are a king and shouldn't know what it's like to do washing up," she drew out, "But I seem to recall you scolding me for such prejudice before, in the infirmary, in regards to consuming expired cabbage."

The King guffawed. Eorwyn shook her head and tucked in. Perhaps, her empty stomach played tricks with her mood as well. It was almost funny to her now how for a second he had seemed so intimidating! He definitely didn't seem such now, sitting in front of her chewing, his cheek rounded with food, while the same sense of safety and familiarity flooded her heart as it always did around him.


	24. Window Shopping

Algun stuck the pin into the cushion with an unnecessary effort and exhaled loudly. Yet another of her commissions had been delayed, and now she was also struggling with an uncooperativing seam. She'd noticed it had gone wrong about half an hour ago, but the corrections would have taken more than two hours, so she'd been stubbornly trying to bend the fabric to her will, hoping against all odds it would straighten itself up. It obviously hadn't, and she now needed to start from the beginning. Algun dropped her head, letting her forehead meet the table with a satisfying thud.

For the past four months she had had less and less time for her pursuits as a needlemaster, and more and more responsibilities of a future Queen lay on her shoulders. And as much as she enjoyed some of them, most of the time, in all those endless meetings, she'd catch herself mentally work on the commissions waiting for her in her shop.

She heard a noise in the front of the shop, the bell above the door had rung, and now several people were talking in excited voices. Halda was there to help the customers, but Algun realised she needed a break, and she stepped out of her study.

Two Dwarven maidens were walking around the front room, looking at the attires displayed on the dummies - and away from them, by the door, stood none other than Maiden Eorwyn, the famous girl from the city of Men, who'd somehow managed to convince the terrifying Master Svuir to take her as his student, and who was also known to be the King's 'pet.' Many rumours surrounded the maiden. Algun believed none, although she was curious of course.

Maiden Eorwyn looked like any other youngling of her race, long-legged and flat-chested from a Dwarf's point of view, but the girl was perhaps still smaller and shorter than most. She had an angular face, large bright green eyes, framed with long eyelashes; freckles peppered her nose and high cheekbones. Her hair was of a beautiful colour, very fair copper gold, pinned around her head. It was obviously short, but assembled in a rather charming do. But the dress on her! That was simply a disaster!

Algun stepped forward and smiled at the customers. All three maidens, the girl of Men included, wore their guild aprons over their dresses, with an abacus, a sachet with quills and ink, and keys tied to the apron belts.

"Mistress Algun!" one of the girls exclaimed. "Such an honour! We just dared to step inside."

"We can't afford any of your creations, not even one sleeve!" the second Dwarven maiden interjected with a loud laugh, and Algun chuckled.

She glanced and saw that unlike her companions Maiden Eorwyn looked embarrassed and uncomfortable.

"Feel free to have a look," Algun said. "That's the point fo displaying the attires. For people to enjoy the view. And perhaps, to get some ideas for their own clobber."

The girls nodded and started walking around, gasping and admiring the dresses and doublets. The girl stayed by the door.

"Maiden Eorwyn if I'm not mistaken?" Algun approached her. "I've heard a lot about you."

The girl winced and looked at Algun. Algun didn't fail to notice how much effort it took for the maiden to tear her eyes off a dress on a dummy in the corner of the shop. Algun approved of the girl's choice, she clearly had a good taste. That dress, with proper alternations of course, would be perfect on the girl. The deep fern green would compliment the eyes, the heavy skirts and the virago sleeves would look too voluminous on another, but would become her lean frame and the long neck perfectly.

"Good day," the girl answered softly. "It's an honour to meet you."

"Would you like to look around as well?" Algun offered.

"My friend Ada is right, I couldn't afford even a quarter of such a dress," the girl answered. "They are magnificent, don't get me wrong!" she rushed to reassure. "I just… prefer not to dream of things I can never have. It's easier this way."

Algun frowned and studied the girl's face. The sentiment was unfamiliar to her. She'd been brought to 'dream of one's own mountain' and 'keep looking for one's gold vein' as the sayings went.

"But thankfully I don't need a formal dress," the girl added with a small chuckle. "I don't attend revels."

"You might have to. As Master Svuir's pupil. He never takes personal apprentices. Now that he has one he might invite you to one. And the Winter Solstice is approaching," Algun said.

"Oh no," the red-haired girl gasped. "Oh Maiar..."

"Where did you get the dress you're wearing right now?" Algun asked.

"It was remade from a dress of a Dwarven maiden. One of the apprentices of the needlemaster guild did it for me."

The girl looked down at her skirt. It had an uneven hem, fit her poorly, and made Algun constantly try to refrain from cringing. The colour was dirty brown, and the underlace had yellowed. The girl of Men laughed softly.

"I'm afraid it is rather… unfortunate," she said merrily and threw Algun an apologetic look. "It was all I could afford, and I had to pay for the alterations on top of it… I'm sorry to subject you to such view." She laughed again. "I'm actually… I used to be quite decent at small mending and could have done a slightly better job myself, but my fingers don't listen to me as well as they used to..."

She awkwardly trailed away, and Algun looked down at the girl's hands. One of them rested on the strap of her book sack. Algun saw long white scars go across the back of the girl's hand.

"My hands have been frostbitten," Maiden Eorwyn explained. "I can hold a spoon, but small objects are hard. And I had to learn to write with my left hand, but that wasn't too much trouble. I've always been equally good with both—"

She stopped mid-sentence, and Algun saw blush spill on the girl's cheeks.

"Pardon me, I'm boring you."

"Not at all," Algun said and gave the girl a warm smile. "My Greataunt is a healer. She told me that people with equally nimble hands tend to be smarter. That explains your proficiency at math."

Maiden Eorwyn laughed again. Algun could see how quick with a smile and warmth the girl was. Algun realised she quite liked the girl.

"Well, this simply won't do," she said decisively. "You need a better everyday dress and a formal dress. Am I right to have heard that you also assist the King in his personal bookkeeping?"

"I am, but—" the girl started.

"No, no, I'm not listening to any objections!" Algun interrupted. "You're the Emissary of the King of Men, the sole personal apprentice of Master Svuir, and the King's bookkeeper. You can't look like that! And don't argue with me!" she said to the girl, who had already opened her mouth. "You're the only maiden of Men in Erebor, and I will dress you! And then _everyone_ will want to buy my dress! Both the Dwarves and the Men!"

The girl slowly closed her mouth and scrutinised Algun's face.

"Are you doubting me, Maiden Eorwyn? I'm a Dwarf! We'll do anything to benefit our trade," Algun laughed. "And besides, I love a challenge! I never made a dress for a woman of Men!"

"I honestly don't know how I can accept," the girl said and shook her head. "If you ask for the full price for your dress, I'll have to pay you in increments till the day I die. And I couldn't accept any charity."

She shook her head again. Algun emitted a feigned unhappy groan.

"We need to sit down with that abacus of yours, Maiden Eorwyn," she said firmly. "We'll take into consideration you modelling for me, and the fame and recognition you'll bring to my shop by simply wearing my creations. And we can have my assistant make you a daily dress, it'll be significantly cheaper." She stepped to the girl and gently touched her sleeve. "It'll be beneficial for both of us."

"Oh, it's so tempting," the girl exhaled and pressed her hands to her cheeks.

"We are ready to go," one of the Dwarven maidens said, and Algun turned to them with a smile again.

"I've just offered your friend a chance to model one of my dresses. I want to make one for a woman of Men."

The Dwarven maidens as much as squealed, and Algun saw Maiden Eorwyn press her head down into her shoulders.

"Soon, more and more trade will grow between Erebor and the cities of Men. I need them to see that I can make the best attires for them, better than any of their tailors and semastresses," Algun said.

"Oh, you're so lucky, Eorwyn!" One of the Dwarves grabbed the girl's shoulder and as much as shook her. "Most of us can't even dream of having one of these dresses."

Algun could see that Maiden Eorwyn doubted, but who would be able to resist?

"And I think something like this would be perfect!" She decided to ensure her success. She pointed at the green dress she'd seen the girl stare at earlier. "I'd make a completely new design, uniquely yours of course, but you definitely need green! And velvet! And snow white silk underneath, to highlight your wonderful complexion."

"Oh Eorwyn, say 'yes!'" the Dwarven maidens as much as shouted, and the girl gave in and nodded.

"But first we need to discuss the expenses and—" she started, and then stopped herself. "Pardon me, I sound ungrateful." She raised her gaze and met Algun's eyes. "Thank you. I can't believe how fortunate I am. You're too kind."

"I am simply taking care of my business," Algun said and gave the girl a wink.

They both smiled, the girl shyly, and Algun triumphantly; and Algun grabbed the girl's hand and pulled her after herself into her study.

"We're going _now_?!" the girl squeaked, and Algun burst into laughter.

"You sound scared! And yes, we are! Say goodbye to your friends!"

"Goodbye," the girl said weakly and threw a panicked look at her friends over her shoulder.

Algun snorted and kept pulling. They had a lot to discuss, and like always at the beginning of some exciting commission she just couldn't wait a single second!

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Please, SUPPORT my writing on Wattpad dot com. My story "Paint the Town Red" got nominated for a writing contest and I really could use your votes and comments. The story is a cosy mystery + romance + mystery. It's a sequel to another book also available for free on my page there "Official Town Business." The name is Katya Kolmakov. **

**I really hope you enjoy the stories, after all some protagonists might seem somewhat familiar ;) I do tend to write my two darling main characters in every one of my stories :D**

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**Cheers xx**

**K.**


	25. Just a Dress

_A fortnight later..._

Eorwyn knocked at the door of Mistress Algun's shop. There was no answer, and Eorwyn bent in half trying to catch her breath. She'd run to the place, and despite how spry and energetic she was these days, her side had stitched and air was now etering her lungs painfully.

She straightened up and knocked again. There was little hope that the needlemaster had waited for her, after all she was more than an hour late, but Eorwyn just couldn't bring herself to give up. She waited for a few minutes, and then with a sigh she grudgingly started walking away from the shop.

Back in her room, Ada and Nis were playing Dwarf chess. Eorwyn's other two roommates were away, visiting their families. It was the time close to the Winter Solstice.

"Well?" Ada asked immediately abandoned the game and rushed to meet Eorwyn.

"I didn't— I was late, Master Svuir delayed me, and I didn't make it before Mistress Algun closed the shop," Eorwyn said and slowly walked up to her bed.

She sat down and looked at her worn out shoes. They had belonged to a Dwarven child before and were too wide. Everything she wore and owned wasn't made for her, and nothing fit. Suddenly it just all became too much, and she felt her throat clench.

"It's alright, I'm sure," Nis said in her usual careless tone. "Just send her a note in the morning, explaining yourself, and—"

"It's easy for you to say," Ada snapped. "You aren't the one who didn't get a Mistress Algun's dress."

"She'll still get it," Nis shrugged. "Just not today."

Eorwyn looked away from her friends. Tears rolled onto her eyes, and she didn't want them to see it. She had no reason to be upset, she told herself firmly. She should consider herself lucky to have the chance to get that dress! And, to think of it, to even wear a dress. And to be safe and fed and warm! And have a roof over her head! And even a vocation and an income!

None of her usual internal affirmations helped. Pain squeezed her temples, and she closed her eyes. She toed off her shoes and lay down on her bed, turning her back to the still arguing Dwarven maidens. She immediately felt sleepy. She hadn't been sleeping much in the past two moons. Master Svuir had been more and more demanding recently - and more and more vexed with her, it seemed. She was now also aiding the King in his personal finances, which usually took place after her normal study hours. And she'd taken more pupils because she had been concerned she wouldn't be able to pay off her now growing debt to the King and the needlemaster.

* * *

"Eorwyn!" The King's voice came, and she jerked and sharply lifted her head.

"You'd fallen asleep," he said with a soft chuckle.

They'd been working on his books in his study, and while he sat at his desk, finishing some letter, she was supposed to copy the numbers into a ledger.

"I'm so sorry!" she yelped and started frantically looking for the quill that had fallen out of her hand. "I will get back to it immediately! I'm so sorry! So embarrassing—"

"Are you well?" the King asked with concern, and Eorwyn's face flushed.

"I am! I am, I'm just tired, that's all." She pulled a forced smile onto her face. "And it's nothing really, we can continue for as long as you need me. It's really, really nothing!"

He hummed pensively, studying her face.

"What have you done to Mistress Algun, by the way?" he asked suddenly.

Eorwyn looked at him aghast.

"Pardon?"

He smiled at her.

"You talk in your sleep. You kept apologising to Mistress Algun, and muttering something about 'your fault.'"

Eorwyn laughed with relief.

"I was late for our appointment yesterday. She has a dress ready for me, but I got delayed."

"You have a dress made for you by Mistress Algun?" He tilted his head in his usual sardonic manner. "That's quite a luxurious purchase, my lady."

"I'm getting quite a discount on it," Eorwyn said with a chuckle. "Mistress Algun hopes that my sad little self wearing one of her creations will ensure her business with both Men and Dwarves. I'm not entirely sure about the former, since I don't know when I'd return to Dale," she said. "But I do believe she'd get quite a lot of new clients when people see me in her dress. If she can dress the slip of a girl like myself, she can dress anyone."

Eorwyn rubbed her eyes and yawned. When she looked again, she saw an odd expression on her face. He was studying her, frowning.

"My lord?" Eorwyn asked, but he said nothing and just shook his head. He went back to his work, so she decided to do the same.

About half an hour later, he suddenly said firmly, "You should go."

"Pardon?"

She wondered if she did something wrong, he looked so irked.

"You should go to her shop now."

"But we haven't finished today's work!"

"We will continue next time you come. You shouldn't keep her waiting."

Eorwyn wasn't sure what to do, and then he grumbled, "Why are you still here, my lady?"

"Because working with you is more important than a dress?" she blurted out.

His face softened, and he chuckled.

"Well thank you, my kind lady." He leaned back in his tall chair. "And yet you should go. We can always wait till the next time, but there is very little time until the Winter Solstice revel. You need to try on your attires in case some alterations need to be made."

Eorwyn hesitated.

"Well, if you think—"

"I do," he interrupted. "Go, try your dress."

Eorwyn jumped to her feet and started packing. She could feel his eyes on her and she looked up.

"Thank you, oh thank you!" she exclaimed, and he smiled a small smile. "I've never had a dress made for me!" she said. "To think of it, it's the first proper dress I'll wear as an adult! And her designs are exquisite! I don't deserve it, but I suppose I should just be grateful that she considered me a good investment."

With all her tools in her bag, she once again met his eyes.

"Thank you for helping me, I'm so grateful! If you hadn't allowed me to stay in your Mountain, and hadn't given me a chance to study, and to work, and to—"

"Aye, aye, you're grateful and you 'don't deserve it' and so on and so on," he said with a chuckle. "We've heard it thousands of times. Run, my lady! Your dress awaits!"

She curtsied quickly and rushed to the door.

When she was closing it, she heard him mutter something. She thought she heard something about 'nonsense' and 'deserving,' but when she looked, he was already writing, his gaze lowered to the parchment. She opened her mouth to ask, and then decided she'd wasted enough of his time, and dashed out.

* * *

"I have no words," she exhaled and looked herself over head to toe.

"Ha!" Mistress Algun stepped back and cocked her head looking Eorwyn over as well. "That's the reaction I strive for. Wordlessness."

Eorwyn nodded, sincerely unable to put into words what she felt.

"I look beautiful," she finally rasped out. "Even for a woman of Men."

"Oh?" Mistress Algun burst into laughter. "_Even_ for a woman of Men?"

"I have bosom!" Eorwyn exclaimed. "I don't know how you've conjured it, but I do!"

She gingerly brushed her palm to the velvet on the underside of her breast, and down to her waist.

"There's a curve!"

"It's all yours," Mistress Algun said, now laughing even louder. "You just wear clothes that don't fit. And don't flatter me, you still have very little. I just framed what I could."

"Oh Mahal, that's an understatement," Maiden Halda, the needlemaster's assistant said. "Look at her eyes! They are like fire opals. The burgundy velvet was the right choice, despite her being a ginger."

"I'm a ginger?!" Eorwyn asked in astonishment.

"And what did you think you are? A blonde?" Halda asked giggling.

"I've never given it much thought, to be honest," Eorwyn said in a small voice. "I never had to think about it, really. It's not like I'd had to choose fabrics or jewellery."

"Which reminds me, you will need jewellery for your formal dress later. I know an excellent pawn broker who loans jewellery for formal occasions," Mistress Algun said. "And you will need proper shoes and belts for both dresses. But we'll think about jewellery when the formal dress is ready."

Eorwyn almost fell off the platform she was standing on.

"Are you saying— Is this— This _isn't_ my formal dress?!"

Air stuck in her throat.

Mistress Algun who was busy with some ribbons on her desk looked up at Eorwyn.

"Of course not!" she scoffed. "That's your day dress. It's so simple!"

"It's velvet! And there is Gondor lace!" Eorwyn shook her hands in the air, referring to the lacy cuffs of her narrow velvet sleeves. "And it's— It's… regal!"

"Well thank you," Halda said. "I did put some effort in it."

"Effort?!" Eorwyn repeated in shock. "I can't imagine how much work went into dressing an unsightly thing like me! And making me look that… like that! I have no words to describe it! I just— I wish I could—"

And suddenly tears burst out of her eyes, and sobs bubbled in her throat. She sank her teeth into the bottom lip, hoping to suppress the ridiculous hysterics, but the affliction overwhelmed her and she hid her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry to— have lost my— I can't—"

Her body shook, and she made a small wailing noise.

She felt a warm hand lay on her shoulder.

"You have nothing to apologise for," Mistress Algun said tenderly. "We've had customers cry in our shop before," she added with a soft laugh; and Eorwyn peeked.

"You did?"

"But of course," Halda said, smiling as well. "Brides mostly. And again, that's quite a compliment to my skill."

"I can't even—You can't imagine how it feels to have something like this," Eorwyn muttered tentatively brushing her hand to the heavy skirt. "To actually _own _a dress. My own. Made for me."

All three women smiled, and suddenly Mistress Algun sniffed as well.

"You're making me mawkish," she said and quickly wiped her tears. "It's most preposterous."

"I'm sorry?" Eorwyn said, and the Dwarven women laughed merrily.

"Does she ever stop apologising?" Halda asked in a feigned bewildered tone.

"She doesn't," Eorwyn quipped and joined the frolics.

She looked at herself in the mirror and shook her head. It still didn't feel real: the narrow bodice hugged her middle, a plaque of brocade in the middle, with tiny river pearls decorating it in a simple argyle pattern; the sleeves were straight and narrow; and the skirt was down to the floor, not too wide, but comfortable enough for Eorwyn's fast step. And to think of it, she could now wear it every day!

* * *

She knocked and entered, balancing books in her arms as usual. The King rose from his seat, as he always did when she came; and as usual he'd looked up just for a second immediately going back to his papers.

Except today he didn't.

His lips softly parted, and he just stood looking at her. Eorwyn couldn't hold back a smile.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Pardon?" the King asked.

Eorwyn opened her mouth to answer - and then realised he wasn't looking at the dress. He couldn't see it behind the books she was pressing to herself. He was staring - if one could apply the word to a man and a King he was - at her hair. She'd had it done, according to the Dwarven fashion. It had been a week since she'd come into the possession of her magnificent dress - and a pair of new shoes, since she seemed to have lost all sense and continued splurging. She just couldn't spoil the look with her unkempt hair, so she'd gone to a braidmaster and had it done. The braidmaster, a Dwarven matron, complimented her regimen of washing it with nettle soap to promote its growth, and altogether was pleasant and accommodating. After that Eorwyn had been repeating the same pattern of braids, with two carefully curled strands let loose on the sides of her face. A thick braid now lay around her head, and Ada insisted on Eorwyn borrowing one of her pins, so now a small silver bird with a blue gem eye sat in Eorwyn's hair above her right temple.

Eorwyn placed the books at the corner of the desk; and the King blinked and looked her over.

"She's a genius, isn't she?" she exclaimed.

"Who?" the King asked.

"Mistress Algun. It was Halda who made the dress, but Mistress Algun had designed it."

The King's face regained its usual composed expression, he sat down and pulled a clean parchment out of a chest at his table.

"Shall we?" He invited her to take her seat with a wave of his hand.

Eorwyn settled and started pulling out her utensils. She was of course a bit disappointed by the lack of compliments to the dress, but on the other hand, it's not as if it was of any interest to him.

"It is beautiful," he said quietly, without lifting his eyes from the first line of numbers. "You look beautiful."

Eorwyn grinned widely and stared at the top of his head.

"I'm so fortunate!" she said and started gleefully adding and subtracting.

"I'm not sure if fortune is what it's all about," he muttered - or at least so she thought, but when she looked he seemed too preoccupied for her to continue such a trivial conversation.

* * *

**Please support my writing on Wattpad dot com! Please vote and comment on the chapters of my story "Paint the Town Red" (Katya Kolmakov.) I could really use one of the many publishing and marketing opportunities they offer as prizes in the writing contest. An additional income or a chance to publish my independent writing would be a blessing. I'm afraid I'm a tad overworked, just as poor Eorwyn these days. **

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**Love xx**

**Katya**


	26. Darkening Skies

Thorin swirled and placed a blow on the dummy's middle with the wooden sword in his hand. He heard an improving hum from Dwalin and stepped back, breathing heavily.

"Better," the tattooed Dwarf said.

"Nay, it's not," Thorin grumbled and passed the sword to a squire, who'd run up to him with a washcloth and a mug of water.

Thorin drank greedily and walked slowly to the bench on the side of the grounds.

"I'm still slow." Thorin sat slowly and thumped his fist to his right thigh. "Damn leg."

"You could deceive me," Dwalin said with a chuckle.

Thorin dropped his head, feeling sweat running down his temple.

"Good thing we ain't expecting an Orc raid any time soon," Dwalin quipped, and Thorin threw him an exasperated side glance.

"Thorin!" Dis' voice rang from the entrance to the grounds, and both male Dwarves looked.

Dwalin rose to his feet, at the view of the approaching dame. Thorin pretended to start rising and then sat back down.

"Dwalin." Dis gave the warrior a nod, and he bowed.

"I'll look into getting more dummies," he grumbled and left.

Dis flopped on the bench and threw a wistful look after him. Thorin pressed his lips to hide a smile.

"Is he avoiding me?" she asked, and Thorin had to clench his jaw to hold back his laughter.

"He's a man, Dis. You should know," Thorin said cheekily, "If he says he's going to fetch more dummies, he's going to fetch more dummies."

Dis gave him a suspicious look, and Thorin feigned innocence.

"Why would he avoid you?" Thorin asked, and Dis looked aside.

"Because he— Because perhaps he's guessed—" she muttered, and then jerked her chin up. "No reason. He's not avoiding me."

"Nay, he isn't," Thorin said lightly. "He's just fetching dummies."

Dis once again glared at him, and he chuckled.

"So, how is your courtship going?" Dis turned to a new topic of a conversation as gracefully as an oliphant in a narrow ravine.

"Excellent," Thorin answered habitually. "Why do you ask?"

"Lady Sigvor has expressed her concern. As has Mistress Oda."

Thorin scoffed.

"That's just women talking. Do they have nothing better to do?"

"They aren't concerned for your courtship, brother," Dis answered coldly. "It's your business and yours alone. They are concerned for Algun."

"What's there to be concerned about?"

Irritation was rising, and Thorin rubbed the back of his neck. He needed a bath - and an escape route from this conversation. His sister vexed him on a good day. Now that she'd decided to stick her long nose into his private affairs he considered suggesting her to move back to the Blue Mountains. Surely there were plenty of those in need of her aid there. He surely wasn't.

"She's overtired these days. And it's obvious that she's gotten too much on her plate. She looks wan. And—" Dis sighed. "She's been late with her commissions. A lot."

Dis gave him a pointed look, which Thorin didn't understand. More so, he had no desire to dwell on the subject.

He sharply rose and picked up his doublet from the bench.

"We can talk about some more at dinner," he lied. "I am in a rush. I have a meeting with my bookkeeper."

"Maiden Eorwyn, I presume," Dis asked.

Thorin threw her a dark look.

"What of her?"

"You have ensured she was invited to the revels, haven't you?" Dis asked. "The girl works hard for you. She deserves a repose."

"She's been invited as Master Svuir's apprentice, I think," Thorin answered.

He didn't know, to be truthful.

"_Politically_ she needs to be invited to the royal revels, brother. And to the family dinner, as well," Dis said, "Considering your history, you'd be able to convince her to come. Kili told me of what happened during the Quest. It would be wise to ensure she's even more familiar with us, for when she goes back to her King."

"The Bargeman isn't her King. She has none," Thorin muttered and started walking away from his sister.

"Then you should become one!" she called after him, but he didn't look back.

The thought of treating the girl as a leverage in the game of politics didn't agree with him.

* * *

She was standing in the passage, in front of the door of his study. She had her hands clasped behind her back, with all her usual belongings - the bag with writing utensils, books, and a sachet she always had with her - on the floor near her feet. She was rocking on the heels of her feet - and giggling. A young courtier stood in front of her, leaning ahead. Too close to Thorin's taste.

The two strands near her face - soft and glossy - bobbed, and she lowered her eyes. Thorin saw the long delicate neck, the shoulders, the small ears, everything as if powdered with light blush; and then she lifted her face, the lashes fluttered. The Dwarf chuckled and leaned even closer, seeking her gaze. Thorin gritted his teeth. The rake had no place being so free with her!

Thorin marched forward, and the two of them as much as jumped away from each other.

"My lord," the courtier muttered and bowed.

She curtsied. Thorin threw her an attentive look. She seemed less joyous to see him than usual. He wasn't seeing the wide smile that had always greeted him before. Was she embarrassed? Flustered? Annoyed that he'd interrupted her conversation with the Dwarf?

He pushed the door open and let her pass inside by him. He felt a sudden urge to throw the courtier one of his infamous glares over his shoulder - he knew how efficient they were - but he abstained. That would be preposterous.

"How is your day going?" she asked in her usual cordial manner.

"Good," he answered absent-mindedly, still stuck on the shocking thought of feeling possessive of her.

He wasn't, of course, he told himself. It would make no sense.

She took her seat and started taking out her parchments and quills. Thorin realised he stood above her, frozen mid step, and he cleared his throat. Her eyes flew to his face.

"My lord?"

Thorin said nothing and walked around his desk. She'd already started on her numbers, and he stared at the golden crown of her hair.

It just wasn't right! The thought blared in his mind. It wasn't right how the young Dwarf spoke to her! She was of Men, which meant no flirtations or anything of the sort should happen between the two of them! It simply wasn't done. She was of Men, he repeated to himself.

He realised she'd stopped writing, the quill in her hand was still.

"Have I done something wrong?" she asked quietly without raising her eyes.

"Of course not," he grumbled.

She slowly lifted her eyes at him.

"Could I ask you for a favour, my lord?" Her voice was soft.

"Aye," he answered.

"If I ever do something to offend you, or break a custom of your people, please, let me know right away."

Thorin studied her face, while she seemed to scrutinise his. He felt a sudden urge to ask what that conversation he'd caught had been about - but of course he had no right to ask. And besides, if he did, it would look as if he was jealous. He wasn't! It was just that it was so wrong! They were of different peoples. The boy had no right to be so close to her, to smile at her like that, to look at her like that… just as Thorin had none.

"I promise," he said glumly and opened his ledger.

She finished their day's work, packed her belongings, and was heading for the door, when he asked, "Have you received an invitation to the Winter Solstice celebrations?"

"Aye, as Master Svuir's apprentice. I'll be sitting at the table with other apprentices. That's what Amri and I had been just talking about. He said we could—"

She caught herself and stopped.

"Amri?" Thorin asked.

"The man I was talking to earlier, in the passage?"

Thorin realised he'd already forgotten his earlier vexation - but now he of course remembered.

"He's an apprentice of Master Bildr, the Head of Ore Finder Guild," she continued. "He's a relation of my friend's."

Thorin nodded and went back to his parchment. He was so irked that he was fisting his hand, thankfully, lowered on his lap and thus invisible to her. He knew he had no reason but her talking about the Dwarf was unnecessary. What did it matter whose apprentice or cousin he was?!

She muttered her goodbyes and left.

* * *

Thorin struggled with his mood for a few minutes but found it impossible to focus on his work.

A knock came to his door, and he invited the visitor with relief. Any distraction would be welcome.

The door opened, and Maiden Algun entered his study. She was alone, which was against the protocol, and she looked uneasy.

Thorin rose.

"My lady, what a pleasant surprise!"

She curtsied.

"May I have a few minutes of your time, my lord?"

Her tone was tense, and he could see how tightly she was clutching her sachet. Thorin invited her to sit and sat down as well.

"I apologise for the inappropriateness of my behaviour, but I decided to discuss my current... predicament privately," she said in a dark voice.


	27. The Second Goodbye

"My lord, I've come today to discuss my impending meetings with the emissaries from the Iron Hills," Algun said and sighed. "And the inventory of the Mountain's supplies I am to participate in. As well as—" She cleared her throat. "Other responsibilities I have as your betrothed."

The King gave her a questioning look. Algun reminded herself that she had no choice. This conversation ought to take place.

"I have given it a lot of thought and I've arrived at the understanding that I do not wish to take these responsibilities upon myself. I intend to concentrate on my vocation, my craft."

Algun was pleased with the firm calm tone she managed to maintain. She watched the King narrow his eyes and his features set. She hadn't expected any different reaction from him.

"The responsibilities you've just mentioned are part of your duty as my future Queen," he said slowly, and Algun nodded.

"I do not deny their importance. I know the duties of the Queen Under the Mountain: the diplomacy, the provisions, and the infirmary." Algun took another slow breath in. "The courtship is to prepare the future Queen for the duties. Or in my case, show me that I am not a good fit for the position."

By the end of her speech the King's face expressed absolutely nothing. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and the blue eyes had grown cold.

"You wish to break off our betrothal," he finally spoke, stating, not asking.

Algun's composure wavered, and she dropped her gaze. Her hands were shaking.

"I do," she whispered.

Silence rang in the room. She gathered her bearings and lifted her eyes. He studied her face, and then his lips twitched.

"It is not just the duty that this betrothal was about," he said quietly.

Algun exhaled loudly. She didn't know him well - better than many she'd assume, but still, not too well - but even she could understand how emotional and vulnerable he must have felt making this concession. Surely, raging and throwing her out of his study would be his first urge.

"No, it was never just about duty," she said, and suddenly felt tears roll over her eyes. "Oh please believe me, it wasn't."

A joyless small smile touched his lips.

"And yet..." he trailed away. His voice was coarse.

Algun met his eyes. She felt tears run down her cheeks, and she chose not to hide them.

"Well, that was an unexpected turn this evening has taken," the King said and cleared his throat sharply.

"I know there are measures to be taken, and—" Algun started but the King raised his hand in a warning gesture.

"Forgive me if I take some time to think your announcement over," he said. "I've heard you, don't doubt. And I do not wish to talk your decision over, or try to change your mind, Mahal be merciful. But I do not wish to have a business like discussion of it right this moment either."

He suddenly picked up a quill from the ink bottle in front of him and lowered his gaze. Algun's heart clenched.

"My lord—" she exhaled.

"That will be all, my lady. We shall talk about it soon."

His voice was even.

Algun nodded, rose slowly, and threw the last look at him.

"Good night, my lord," she whispered.

No answer followed, but she expected none.

* * *

Algun had been crying for the past four hours, and still there were more and more tears running down her face.

A knock came to her door, and then it opened without her permission.

"Your bawling exhausts me," her Greataunt said and marched into the room.

"I was… quiet," Algun muttered and quickly wiped her tears. "But I apologise if I have disturbed you, Siginirak."

The old woman rolled her eyes, came up to Algun's bed, and sat on the edge.

"Did he yell?" she asked in an offhand tone, and Algun shook her head.

"No, he didn't… I wish he did." A sob fell off her lips. "I wounded him. I'm a despicable person."

Her Greataunt looked her over in her usual sarcastic manner.

"Oh don't say it, please," Algun begged. "Don't tell me all those clever things, please. That I was the one who decided it. That it was for the best, and I know it. Or that it was not, and that I'm an imbecile. Or that..." Algun choked on her words, and pressed her face into her pillow.

"You aren't an imbecile."

Algun had never heard Siginirak speak in a such a soft voice. Algun peeked and saw a sad smile on the healer's lips.

"You are in love with the man. Of course you are crying. You've hurt him, and you're in pain now."

Algun's lips twisted.

"But I did what was right—" she started, and the matron put her hand on Algun's shoulder.

"You did. No need to argue and be defensive with me, girl. I've brought you up. I know you aren't impulsive."

"I wouldn't make a good Queen," Algun said.

"You wouldn't make the _right_ Queen - not the right one for him."

"It hurts," Algun whimpered and squeezed her eyes. "It hurts so much."

"I know it does, child."

Siginirak ran her fingers through Algun's hair.

"Just let the tears run, little raven. There is nothing else to be done."

* * *

Thorin lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling of his room. The blow of the needlemaster's rejection was so sudden that from time to time he had to remind himself that he hadn't imagined it. His thoughts would wander off, onto some mundane subject, and then it was as if she rejected him all over again. Every next time the pain didn't seem to be any less.

Just a few hours ago he'd had a bride. Up was up, down was down. And now the world was in disorder.

Now, he needed a plan to preserve his pride and cause least aggravation. There were customs, of course: there were papers to be signed; gifts to be returned. Renovation had to be cancelled in the halls that were being prepared for them.

Thorin thought of the relations who now had to be informed of the news. Irritation rose at the sheer image of Dis fretting, of Balin's sympathetic looks, or the court talking.

He decided he'd ask her to wait till the end of the Winter Solstice celebration. Surely, she could withstand dancing with him at the revels, he thought venomously, it's not as if he were repulsive to her.

Having the next few steps planned made him feel better, and he closed his eyes.

* * *

"My lord?" The girl's voice shook him out of his stupor, and he blinked.

It took a second to remember where he was: in his study, a ledger opened in front of him, the bookkeeper from Men sitting across from him.

Her large green eyes roamed his face.

"My lord, are you… well?" she asked.

He opened his mouth to give her some meaningless response, but words suddenly stuck in his throat.

He looked at her and shook his head.

"Would you like to continue tomorrow?" she asked already stretching her hand to her belongings, no doubt to hastily stuff them into her bag.

"Do you play chess, my lady?" Thorin asked impulsively.

She frowned.

"Pardon?"

"Do you play chess? The books can wait." He rose suddenly irked by the view of parchements and books and quills. He jerked the collar of his doublet. The study felt stuffy.

"I do play chess," she said and jumped to her feet. "Would you like a game? I'm not particularly good but I'll try."

She readily took place across the small table near the fireplace. He was already arranging the figures on it.

She wasn't indeed good but he could see it was the lack of practice rather than of intellect. Her hand would freeze above a figure, and she wiggled her fingers above them when she was thinking. There was some sort of charming eagerness in her.

Twenty moves in, he watched her sit, her eyes roaming the board, her fingers steepled in front of her mouth, when he suddenly said, "Mistress Algun broke off our betrothal."

She jerked, her arm brushed the board, and several figures flew off, and onto the floor. The silence in the room was so tense that the quiet clicking of a figure still rolling seemed unpleasantly sharp.

"Oh..." Her lips rounded, and he saw her blink frantically. "I'm so very sorry."

Thorin wasn't sure why he'd said it. He felt like a moron now.

"So, I apologise if I'm distracted from the game," he clumsily tried to conjure an explanation and pointedly looked at the board.

"Oh," she repeated and followed his example.

She then looked at the floor, bent down, and picked up her pawn.

He watched her twirl it in her small fingers.

"Pardon me," she said and put the figure on the board. "I can restore the game. I remember where everything was."

And then he felt her hand cover his, and he met her eyes.

"But something tells me you don't want to play," she whispered.

Thorin shook his head.

"You can't tell anyone," he said. "It will be only announced after the revels."

"Of course I won't tell anyone," she said hastily.

They both remained quiet, with the table between them. He internally berated himself for his erratic behaviour.

Her hand was still on his, and she squeezed gently.

_End of Part III_


	28. Dance With Me

_Part IV_

Eorwyn entered the Grand Hall of Erebor and had to stop by the entrance, all her senses suddenly overwhelmed. Torches and candles lit up the chamber; loud voices rang, bouncing off the walls and the cavernous ceiling; the smell of roasted meat and bread and pastries mixed together filled her nose.

"C'mon, Eorwyn!" Ada grabbed the girl's hand and pulled her after herself. "There's the apprentice table. And I see Amri saved you a spot."

Eorwyn was grateful for the presence of her friends. She wouldn't have moved on her own, she'd been so stunned. Ada continued marching ahead, and Eorwyn's feet carried her without her participation.

"Oh look, there's the royal table!" Nis loudly whispered into Eorwyn's ear.

Eorwyn saw the King and his sister sitting in the head of a large table at the back wall of the hall. The King's nephews, and Gloin with his spouse sat on the sides of it. Mistress Algun sat to the King's left, absorbed in a lively conversation with Lord Balin and Dwalin. Eorwyn's heart clenched in acute sympathy towards the Dwarven maiden. She couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for the needlemaster to appear so merry. Although, perhaps Eorwyn just didn't understand what the maiden was going through, Eorwyn reminded herself. It could have been utterly different among the Dwarves.

"We're over there, the eight's table from the royal one," Nis said. "I'm not supposed to sit with you, I'm not a chief apprentice, but I think Ada had asked for a spot for me, and I will soon get the promotions, and—"

"Move, Nis!" Ada was now pulling them both by the sleeves.

At the table the girls immediately started arguing where each of them was supposed to sit, and Eorwyn just stood there, waiting for them to decide. They always argued, but it was never malicious or hurtful.

Someone gently touched her shoulder, and she turned.

"Sit with me?" Amri asked, and Eorwyn smiled at him.

The Dwarf was always a welcome company. He had a light-hearted and amiable personality. Eorwyn also felt they had a similar experience of being somewhat alien to the Dwarves of Erebor and those who'd arrived from the Blue Mountain and Iron Hills. Amri was from the Eastern Dwarves, from down South. There was a prejudice, which Eorwyn had learnt about in Erebor, against the Eastern Dwarves, especially from the Redwater clans. Amri himself seemed unburdened by it. To think of it, he seemed perpetually optimistic and jolly.

Eorwyn took the chair near him and politely smiled at the other eight apprentices. She'd been friendly with most of them, or at least had acquainted them. As part of her studies with Master Svuir, she had to interact with most of their masters and apprentices of all grades.

She looked around the table, and her mouth watered. She'd never seen that much food - and of such obvious deliciousness!

"What would you like to start with?" Amri asked with a laugh.

His plate had food piled on it, and he held a leg of some large fowl in his hand.

"I don't know," Eorwyn said and laughed as well.

She was catching the mood of the revelling crowd. While she was stretching to grab a bird leg for herself, Amri loaded her plate with some root vegetables that smelled deliciously of garlic and herbs.

"Let me pour you some mead," Amri said.

"No, no, I can't, thank you." She shook her head and covered her glass with her hand. "I get ill from meads and spirits."

"Oh, I've never encountered this before." Amri gave her a dramatic squinted examination that made her giggle. "I know tots sometimes get sick from excessive drinking. Have you lied to us and you are secretly an infant?"

Eorwyn snorted and shook a chicken leg at him. He suddenly leaned ahead and bit into it with gusto. Eorwyn gasped and pulled it back. He wasn't letting go.

"Thief," she muttered, and he grinned, with his mouth closed now, his cheek rounded.

Eorwyn took another piece of meat from the platter and started on her dinner. A familiar apprentice, a girl named Asta, who was in the wine trade, asked her about the latest news from the Court of the Exchequer. Others joined the conversation, which flowed smoothly.

* * *

"Do you dance?" Ada asked Eorwyn couple hours later.

Nis and Amri had disappeared a while ago. Both were excellent dancers and popular with the opposite sex. Eorwyn caught glimpses of them in the crowd and could see them being invited to a new dance as soon as the previous ended.

"I know a few dances of Men," Eorwyn said wistfully. "But I can't dance like that!"

She watched Amri move fluidly and confidently on the floor. Nis was dancing a third dance with the same partner in a row. As far as Eorwyn understood, if the pair didn't separate after three dances, it was time for gossip to start.

She could also see Prince Kili dance, seemingly, with every girl in the Hall. His brother remained seated. They said his leg was still healing, although no permanent damage was expected to remain. Several of the initial Company members were present. Nori and Dori had already come to greet Eorwyn. Ori, Oin, and Dwalin had waved to her.

"You should try the next dance," Ada encouraged. "You don't need a partner for it, everyone will be dancing together. And you'll just follow the example. No one will see if you make a mistake."

"I feel like everyone will be watching," Eorwyn said. "After all, I'm the only non-Dwarf here. I'll embarrass myself."

"You won't know if you don't try," Ada pressed on.

Eorwyn was tempted. Despite having none of the spirits she felt as if inebriated. Her cheeks burnt, and some sort of mad excitement bubbled in her.

Still, she thankfully didn't forget all caution. She shook her head.

"You go dance, Nis. I'll watch."

The Dwarf maiden tried to argue more, but the next dance was starting so she got up and walked away.

Eorwyn squirmed on the bench she sat on. Honestly speaking, Eorwyn simply loved dancing. When she knew she wasn't observed she'd dance to the tunes in her head. She'd loved listening to Men sing and play music when she was a child, but it had been years since she had a chance. She had no talent for music, but delighted in listening to her present companions who seemed to hum and sing whenever they could.

"Could I have this dance?" a low voice came, and Eorwyn looked up.

She didn't know the Dwarf. Judging by the opulent clobber he was one of the high lords.

"Forgive me, I don't dance," Eorwyn answered hurriedly.

"What she means to say, she doesn't know _this_ dance," Ada's voice came from behind the Dwarven lord. "You can put your rune in her dance card."

Ada pulled out a small piece of parchment and a graphite stick out of a small sachet on her belt and handed it over to the Dwarf. He quickly scribbled something and passed the paper to Ada. He then gave them both a bow and left.

Ada flopped on the bench near Eorwyn.

"I've had two dances with Lord Kai. I wouldn't advise it. He'd stomped my feet three times."

She wiggled her red pointed toe shoes, making them peek from under the hem of her dress.

"Brute," she muttered, and Eorwyn snorted.

"What's a dance card?"

"Ah right." Ada passed the parchment into Eorwyn's hand. "It's your escape route. If you don't want to dance with a Dwarf, or don't like a tune, you make them write down their initials, and then you can invite them to dance later. If you decide to, of course."

Eorwyn looked down at the paper where Dwarvish runes spelled one name.

"You are supposed to put it there," Ada pointed at a long wooden table on the side of the room. "Those who want a dance will find your card and leave their names. And then you come back and peruse your options. Here, let me take yours as well."

Ada got up and picked up the paper out of Eorwyn's hand.

"I'll go dance with that cute apprentice from the goldsmith guild, and in half an hour we'll see what catch you and I have gotten. Deal?"

"Deal," Eorwyn answered.

She quite liked the custom. It left her a lot of freedom - and just as Ada had said, an escape route.

"And don't be shy to go and look through the cards," Ada said with a chuckle. "I bet Amri wouldn't mind if you put your name into his card."

Eorwyn gave her friend a confused look. Ada laughed louder and walked away.

* * *

An hour later Ada was back with two goblets and their cards.

"Oh Maiar be merciful."

Eorwyn stared at her card. So many Dwarves had put their names on it that some of them had to write on the margins, and between the lines, on both sides of the parchment.

Ada snickered and patted her shoulder.

"Now the trick is to figure out who's who here," she muttered, examining her own, no less full card. "Have you put your name on any?"

"No!" Eorwyn squeaked. "I've been here the whole time. And besides, why would I? I can't dance!"

"Nonsense." Ada gave her a dismissive wave of her hand. "Go for the next dance, it's easy. You just follow your partner's steps. You'll learn in no time."

"No, I really can't! I'll misunderstand something and-" Eorwyn started when Ada interrupted her with a loud squeal..

"Are these… the King's runes?! King Thorin wants to dance with you!"

The Dwarven maiden poked Eorwyn's card with her index finger. The two runes were intertwined, written in his usual confident manner. Eorwyn had seem them myriads of times before, on his papers.

"Oh I envy you so much! They are all after your influence in Dale and Erebor, and you get to choose whoever you want to dance with! I wish I was so important!" Ada sighed.

Eorwyn stared at her bewildered. 'Important?'

"Oh, and a half of the Erebor Heroes do! Makes sense considering your history!" Ada continued moving her fingers on the card. "Look, Lord Dwalin! Oh he's so… ooph!" Ada pressed her hands to her chest. "Too old for me, of course, but nonetheless! I didn't even know he danced! And Lord Balin of course. And look, Idri, that charmer from the miners guild! He's such a rake they say. And Prince Kili! Oh he's enthralling! And-"

"And somehow our little snowdrop is still sitting." Amri's voice made Eorwyn lift her face.

She smiled at him.

"And I'm intending to keep it this way."

The Dwarf grinned and suddenly leaned forward, almost bumping his nose to hers. His shiny eyes, the colour of strong coffee, were right in front of her.

"C'mon, _labamrazkh_, let's dance. I won't let you stumble."

He stretched his hand, and Eorwyn swallowed a knot in her throat. And then she exhaled and put her hand into his palm.

"Just don't complain when I step on your feet," she muttered.

Amri barked a joyous laugh.

"Even if you do, you're so light, I won't feel anything, _labamrazkh._"

* * *

P.S. 'labamrazkh' = (Khuzdul) snowflake


	29. Heart to Heart

"You look happy," Amri said, and Eorwyn turned and met his eyes.

They were slowly walking towards the Apprentice Halls. Ada and Nis were a few steps behind, chattering and giggling, comparing their cards. Eorwyn could hear them mention the names of their recent dance partners and their discussion of the revel attendants' attires.

"I am," Eorwyn answered and laughed in surprise. "I am!"

He chuckled and looked at her askance, tilting his head.

"Not a common happenstance, is it?"

He had a melodic smoky voice, with a peculiar, pleasant lilt to it.

"It is… recently," Eorwyn said. "Since I came to Erebor."

"Perhaps, it's just that you belong here," Amri said with a shrug.

Eorwyn threw him a surprised glance. She didn't feel like arguing, despite her misgivings towards the idea.

He unbuttoned the top two buttons on his doublet.

"It was so hot there," he muttered.

"It's just because you've been jumping vigorously," she teased.

"Jumping? I was dancing!" he feigned being taken aback, and Eorwyn snorted.

"Tell it to Asa. She looked confused by your… maneuvers," she said.

"Asa fancies him! She'd agree if he invited her to herd sheep or dig ditches," Nis sing-singed from behind them.

Amri smirked and shook his head.

"Don't point fingers, Nis," he said softly. "A day may come when you fancy someone enough to tolerate their… 'maneuvers,'" he said with a cheeky glance to Eorwyn. "You wouldn't want to be talked about behind your back."

Nis grew silent, and Eorwyn looked at Amri with affection. His character was such a wonderful mixture of some sort of unburdened cheerfulness and maturity. They walked slowly for a few minutes. The girls were back to their conversation and had fallen further behind.

"When we get to the halls, could I have a word with you privately?" Amri asked quietly.

Eorwyn, lost in her thoughts, still as if muddled after the evening, nodded.

"Of course," she said and smiled at him.

To her surprise, he didn't return the smile, his face serious. Eorwyn wondered if he was in some sort of distress. It was unlikely it was of a romantic nature, he wouldn't have asked for her help with such matters. It surely had something to with his studies or service. Perhaps, Ada had been right, and Eorwyn was indeed perceived 'important' by some. It wouldn't be such a conundrum, to think of it, if it allowed her to help her friends.

Amri nodded to his own thoughts, and Eorwyn smiled. The memories of the revel swirled in her head, and her feet ached from all the dancing. It had been the most magical night in her life!

Nis and Ada turned into the passage that led into their chambers, and Eorwyn called after them.

"I'll catch up with you in a moment."

She saw Nis throw a surprised look at her and then exchange glances with Ada. The maidens lingered, but then Ada grabbed Nis' sleeve and pulled her after herself towards their door.

"Come, labamrazkh," Amri called her softly.

There was a balcony above a passage below in the entrance to the apprentice halls. Eorwyn stepped out onto it and looked around. Oh how much she had grown to love Erebor - with its passages, and staircases, with its staunch beauty, the austere lines and luxuries and treasures! She loved everything about it: the dimness of walkways, and the bright lit chambers, the sharp angles of the patterns on the clothes and armour and in the decor of pathways and halls! She loved the silence of the study rooms and the noise of the forges, the smells, the flavours, the sternness, and the warmth hiding underneath the astringent exterior of its inhabitants.

She remembered that she wasn't alone on that balcony, and she looked at Amri who stood, his back leaned against the railing.

"Is something wrong?" she asked the Dwarf, and he shook his head and smiled at her.

"Eorwyn," he said firmly but warmly and straightened out. "I am infatuated with you."

Eorwyn gasped and gawked at him. It felt as if there wasn't a single thought in her mind. She's surely had heard wrong. He stepped closer to her and picked up her hands.

"I'm enchanted," he continued, his voice low and emotional. "And I understand you come from the people of different traditions, so I assumed—"

"Amri!" Eorwyn exclaiming suddenly having found her voice. "What sort of… madness is this? You do realise you're speaking to… me?" She jerkily gestured all over herself.

He chuckled, despite looking quite afflicted.

"Yes, my darling, I do know whom I'm talking to."

"It doesn't seem like it!" Eorwyn exclaimed and flailed her arms. Shock was growing more and more acute. "It's me, Eorwyn!"

"Aye, it is. And how's this a hindrance to my feelings?" he asked.

"But… but…" Eorwyn made a few more mad waves of her hands in the air. "I'm no Dwarf!"

"Well, you see—" he started but Erowyn didn't let him continue.

"You aren't even supposed to notice I'm a woman!"

"And yet I have," he said.

Eorwyn emitted a few more choked noises, and gathered lungfuls to start arguing. He didn't let her - he picked up her hands again and pulled and she stepped forward, too stunned to resist.

"Eorwyn," he called softly. His voice was now nothing but a velvet whisper. "Do you think you can find a shred of affection for me in your heart?"

Eorwyn's heart beat painfully in her throat now.

"I— I don't know," she gasped out. "I just never thought— It's just not done— And I never thought—"

"It's done where I come from," Amri interjected softly. "The Eastern Dwarves and the Men in my lands have entered unions. And there were children."

"But even if we could—" Eorwyn spoke but then she shook her head and grew silent.

Amri waited, still holding her hands in his. Eorwyn suddenly noticed how scorching his calloused palms were, how safe and warm her hands felt in his.

"My darling, should I give you time to think it over?" Amri asked and smiled at her. "You seem utterly bewildered."

"I never thought it would happen to me," Eorwyn said shyly.

"What?"

"A confession. Romance. A man asking about… my feelings," she answered, and suddenly a strong wave of endearment towards him overcame her. She squeezed his fingers. "Thank you!" she said with feeling.

Amri laughed.

"What are you thanking me for, labamrazkh?" He gave her a tender look.

"For doing it so… gently," Eorwyn answered. "For giving me time. I am not scared!"

He gave her a confused look, but it mattered not. If anything, his consideration was even more valuable and precious to her since he knew not of her history.

"You are not refusing me, Eorwyn," Amri pointed out cheekily. "Does it mean I could hope?"

"I don't know," she answered, and since he didn't press on she gave it a thought, while he waited patiently. "You see, my friend, I am not being coy. I truly have never thought of such matters. If anything, a man interested in me would scare me before. Being married to a Man - and I mean a Man from my people - would mean giving up my vocation. Giving up my numbers. That's why I used to hide that I was a girl. And that's why I loved my life in Erebor so much. I had always been told Dwarves wouldn't see a potential mate in me. And I just never thought I could have… both."

"You can have both," he said and gave her a grin. "Me and… your numbers."

She sniggered.

"You're surely offering a good bargain."

"I'm a Dwarf, dear. That's what we do. We're cunning this way. You think you get a better deal, while it's a Dwarf who scores a bargain. You get to keep doing what you want. I? I get the woman I find most captivating."

A doubt crept into Eorwyn's mind, and she pulled her hands back. He released them immediately.

"But do you, Amri?" she asked searching his eyes. "I don't presume to judge… I know nothing of love. Perhaps, everyone deserves someone to love them, no matter what they are. Myself included," she added with a joyless chuckle. "But are you certain?"

"I'm certain of what I'm feeling right now," Amri said lightly. "And there is always the courtship time to figure out the details and to make sure it's something we both desire."

Eorwyn frowned.

"I don't know, my friend..." she said quietly. "You have to admit, I'm not just your average Dwarven maiden you can propose courtship to. My situation is quite… unusual. If you need more time to think and to know your heart, I suggest—"

"I know my heart, Eorwyn," Amri said. "And it is yours."

Eorwyn sighed deeply.

"Then give me time just as you offered. I am indeed… bewildered."

Amri let go of her fingers and stepped back.

"Please, know this, Eorwyn. It's not a passing whimsy, and not some trivial curiosity. I do… care for you." His voice wavered. "Deeply. And if you have me… I'll love you forever."

Eorwyn's heart fluttered, and she impulsively stepped ahead and placed her hand on his chest. She could feel his heart drum in his chest.

"Eorwyn..." he whispered. "_Atamanel_..."

He leaned to her lips, and for the first time in her life Eorwyn didn't recoil from the thought of a touch or a male being so close to her.

And yet, she took her hand off his body and stepped back. Amri noticed and searched her face. He then stepped back and straightened.

"I'll leave you to it, my dear." His voice was coarse.

Eorwyn nodded, suddenly as if exhausted.

Amri gave her a bow, his gaze lingered on her face, and then he was gone. Eorwyn leaned onto the railing and watched the night city.


	30. The Night After

**The chapter is dedicated to dearreader. You're the reader every FF writer needs! If every chapter of every story was met with an enthusiastic and open response such as your latest comment, more people would write! Thank you! Always - please, ALWAYS - let me know what you want to see in a chapter! That's what it's all about: all of us escaping into the story together. You made my week!**

**Love xx**

**K.**

* * *

Thorin fell on his bed, on his back, and closed his eyes. The mead he'd drunk muddled him in a rather pleasant way, and he hummed. Sweet tiredness after a night of dancing buzzed through his muscles. Oddly, sleep didn't come.

Snippets from the conversations of the night, the images of the guests, the smells and flavours swirled in his mind.

…Dis had almost made a fool of herself. Surely, everyone had noticed her fawning and ogling…

…Thorin needed to remind Balin about that conversation he'd had with the Iron Hills goldsmith about the volume on the history of the Quest of Zirakzigil…

...that brandy Nori had arranged for him to sample was exquisite! Thorin needed to ensure more of it had brought in…

...that blonde maiden from Iron Hills everyone had been talking about was surely a beauty, but her skill in dancing was lacking. She'd kept stepping on his foot during _kharas…_

...the bookkeeper had felt so delicate in his arms…

She had, hadn't she? He remembered the shy smile trembling on her lips, the trusting merry expression in her eyes, the soft golden strands framing her face. When she entered the room, he froze, his face thankfully hidden behind the goblet he was drinking from. She was radiant. He recognised the work of Mistress Algun immediately, who certainly knew how to play on the client's merits. The girl's neck looked long and strong, her head set regally; the wider top part of the sleeves made her square her shoulders confidently. She knew she looked good and carried herself accordingly. Thorin felt unreasonably… proud for her.

...she smiled and whispered, "I don't know the dance..."

...he could feel the curve of her back, the delicate shoulder blades under his palm…

...the velvet of the dress was exquisite…

…the skirt would heavily brush at his legs when she swirled, led by his hand…

...she followed when he led… so easily… so naturally…

...her lips were bright red, cheeks flushed…

...she turned her head just as the dance demanded, and he saw a vein on her throat…

...the skin looked smooth…

...would it taste sweet on his lips?

* * *

When Thorin was a youngling, just in his sixties, his cousin Dain Ironfoot who was visiting Erebor at the time, convinced Thorin and Balin and couple other youths to sneak and spy on the maidens participating in _yestar durnu_. The ritual consisted of young maidens, approaching their spring of womanhood - thus the name - gathering in a large hall at the root of the Mountain, around a pool of mineral water fed by an underground stream. The maidens danced, sang, and eventually walked slowly into the water, one after another, while their sisters sang and clapped rhythmically, and the water slowly soaked the gauzy white dresses they wore on their bare bodies.

That adventure of his had had two major consequences. When one of them slipped on the small pebbles in the alcove they'd been hiding in, and they'd been discovered, it was Dain Ironfoot who was the only one caught. The matrons supervising and guiding the ritual were by custom allowed to beat him up with the long sticks that they held in the hands for that exact purpose. When Thorin and his companions ran along the passage, they could hear his yelps behind them. That story had forever remained a hilarious anecdote recalled at each revel the ginger Dwarf was present.

The second consequence, which stayed with Thorin for his whole life, was his fascination - ever so unfulfilled - with those simple white undertunics…

* * *

_...just like the one he could now see on Mistress Algun who was seated on his bed._

"_Am I dreaming?" Thorin asked with a smirk, well aware of the answer._

_The needlemaster snickered and batted her lashes._

"_Even if you do, my lord, wouldn't it make sense just to accept it and enjoy it?" she murmured._

"_He's a man. He always needs to _know,_" a soft voice came from behind Thorin, and he turned around._

_The bookkeeper stood behind him. The same kind of a white tunic hid her body from him, only her toes peeking from under the hem. _

"_I do know. And aye, I'll just enjoy," he said, and the bookkeeper giggled._

"_Good."_

_She walked to the bed and beckoned him. He stepped forward and caught her cool fingers. The touch was surprisingly corporeal. _He'd held her hand before, he remembered: in the infirmary, in his study, and then just now, on the dance hall. First time, he'd been ill, and she'd taken care of him. She'd comforted him when he'd shared the news of the end of his betrothal. She'd danced with him, her hand in his, and he could see the golden specks of her freckles - so close - on the pale skin, and the small pink ear with a heavy emerald earring, and the delicate dip of her collarbone.

_He looked down and saw the scars covering the back of her palm. Oh, right, her hands had been frostbitten. _

_He lifted the hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on the white lines._

"_You seem to be in no hurry to get to the main attraction of this evening," the needlemaster said with a throaty laugh from the bed._

_Thorin looked attentively. She surely looked like herself - and yet, she wasn't her. A teasing smile played on the familiar curved lips, but it was no Algun. Her fingers were playing with the narrow lace strap of the underdress._

Algun had broken off your betrothed,_ a voice reminded him. _She'd rejected you.

"_Come," the brunette called, and he sat on the covers near her._

_She moved in, and pressed into him. Her beautiful white arms went around his neck, and she leaned in. Her breath brushed at his lips._

"_You're enchanting, my lord."_

She's said something similar once. He'd kissed her, the chaperone had pretended not to see. _The needlemaster's eyes were clouded, half-lidded, and he saw her chest rise in a shuddering breath. _

She hadn't sounded like a temptress then. She'd breathed out the words, and he could see blush powder the skin in the cut of her dress.

"_Thorin," the dream Algun murmured and turned his face to her, her little index finger on the side of his jaw._

"_Thorin," the bookkeeper called from behind. _

_She slid her hand down his arm from behind, and the small palm covered his hand. He turned and as much as bumped his nose into hers. She was smiling at him - and it _was_ her._

"_Eorwyn..." he whispered._

"_Yes, my love?" she answered, and then she shifted, to look at the needlemaster behind him. "He's not taking advantage of his fortune, isn't he?" she asked with a giggle._

_The needlemaster laughed, and suddenly he felt a pair of lips press to his cheek above the beard. They slid closer to his ear._

"_Stop holding back, Thorin," Algun whispered into the ear. "We both are here on our own volition. Do you approve of our choice of attire?"_

_He looked Eorwyn over. He could guess the lines of her body through the gauzy fabric._

The green dress at the revel hugged her waist. White silk peeked through the cuts on the sleeves and from under the voluminous skirt. He pressed her into him, during the movement she didn't know and couldn't guess, leading her, and she arched into him readily.

_He could just imagine gathering a handful of the velvet, pulling, pressing her into him, claiming, taking… All to himself…_

"_Why don't you?" the dream Algun whispered in his ear. "You desire it."_

"_I desire it..." he repeated as if without his will._

_Eorwyn smiled comfortingly and cupped his face. He could feel the cool narrow palm on his jaw and his cheek, and he leaned into the touch. He then turned slightly and pressed his lips to the smooth skin._

"_We weren't supposed to be there," he whispered. "Then, in that cave… We weren't supposed to see them. They weren't for us."_

"_I'm not for you either," Eorwyn said melancholically, and he lifted his eyes at her. "And yet, here I am."_

"_She's no Dwarf," Algun confirmed behind him. "Look at me, Thorin."_

"_Look at me, Thorin," Eorwyn said._

_Algun's nimble fingers tickled his neck._

"_That's how it works, my lord. A girl wears such tunic when she's ready to become a woman. Isn't it what Dain told you all then? That girls prepare tunics for their first night?"_

"_She's just teasing you," Eorwyn said._

They'd been teasing them, all those girls. They'd known the boys had hid in the passage, because Ironfoot had been a clumsy _lulkh _and had made so much noise!_ And they'd danced and sang, luring them, and they were innocent and pure, but they also threw looks over their shoulders, and the fabric would brush at a hip, or a breast, and their arms were bare…_

"_Kiss me," Eorwyn whispered..._

_Or was it Algun?_

"_I can't," he said, and shook his head trying to chase away the nasty fog clouding his mind. "I shouldn't… You are… I'm a king, and you trust me… And… you can't refuse..."_

"_Kiss me, my beloved. We're to be married. It's all rather simple. Nothing improper here."_

"_We are not," he muttered. "You gave me up. It was so simple. You fit perfectly. We fit… I didn't think it would-"_

"_You don't seem particularly upset," Algun interrupted him strictly._

_His eyes flew open, and he stared at Eorwyn. She now sat in front of him, her hand folded decorously on her lap. Algun sat behind her, and he could see she was braiding the bookkeeper's hair._

"_You aren't at all upset, Thorin. Don't be silly," the dream Algun said and shrugged. _

"_I'm not upset," Thorin repeated - and had to agree it was true._

"_Is he not?" Eorwyn asked, and was going to turn, when the needlemaster shushed her._

"_Don't squirm. Do you want to look like a troll at the revel?"_

"_I don't," the bookkeeper answered obediently._

_Her eyes met Thorin's, and she smiled._

"_I want to look beautiful for my King." Her tone was flirtatious, and still, it was _her_. _

"_I'm not your King. I can't..." He struggled to put the thought into words. "I can't take advantage of you. You are..."_

"_...my friend," she finished. "I am, my love. How much easier it would have been, had it been different."_

"_He needs a Dwarven wife who'd make a good wife and the Queen Erebor needs," Algun said sternly…_

… _or was it Dis?_

_What was Dis doing in this dream?!_

"_She's not here, my heart," Eorwyn said tenderly and moved closer to him. "No one is here - but us. Just the two of us."_

_He gently put his hands on her upper arms. He wanted to pull her closer… he wanted it so much… he wanted _her_ so much…_

"_But you won't," she said calmly._

"_I won't," he repeated. _

"_It's alright, my heart. It's just a dream."_

_She cupped his face again, and he pressed a kiss into the palm again._

"_I need-" he choked out. "I want- you."_

"_And you have me," she said soothingly, and her fingers ran through his hair. "Shh, I'm here. I'm here..."_

_He lunged ahead, and grabbed her shoulders, and jerked her into him. She melted into him, and he squeezed, roughly, hungrily… _

"_Mine..."_

Thorin slowly opened his eyes. The room was dim, but he knew dawn was near. He'd fallen asleep on his bed, still in the evening clothes, over his covers. His mouth was full of nasty taste, and his head ached.

He slowly opened his hand, releasing a handful of the sheet he'd been clenching in a fist so tight it hurt.


	31. A Prick and a Cut

**I got surprisingly little feedback on the previous chapter. I thought an (almost) sex dream was kinda a rad idea... ;) Did you like it, my lovelies? :D**

* * *

"We need to talk privately, my lord," Mistress Algun whispered.

Her face was very close, she was putting pins into the collar of the half-finished doublet she'd brought for fitting. He nodded.

"Or… do you want to make it official? I could talk to my Aunt, and she can arrange an appointment with a notary," the needlemaster continued.

She looked pale, tired. She'd held the pretence well during the Winter Solstice revels, but now the difference in her was obvious. She'd been right, though: it was time to put an end to their betrothal.

A knock came to his parlour, and Thorin allowed the visitor in. His sister pranced inside, and Thorin cringed in irritation. The woman's mood swung these days between the sulking of a maiden full of unrequited feelings and the overly zealous excitement.

"Oh, Mistress Algun, what a pleasure to see you!" Dis chirped. "Don't mind me, I won't interrupted lovebirds' chatter." She giggled like a dimwit. "I'll just sit here in the corner and wait for my brother. You can have him for as long as you want."

Dis shook her finger at them playfully and plopped in a chair.

"This might become a trouble," Algun whispered even quieter, and their eyes met.

Thorin raised an eyebrow. His answer to this would be 'you don't say.'

Algun continued her efforts, he could fill her fingers flutter on his neck. Her silky black hair and the milky skin of her cheekbone were so very close. Thorin swallowed with difficulty. For a second he wondered if he should have fought her decision. After all, she had been a perfect betrothed for him: her family, her temper, her looks - everything was to his liking.

"How was the training this morning?" Dis asked from her perch.

The woman was simply incapable of being quiet! Thorin's jaw set. He wondered if the needlemaster was going to perforate his neck with one of her pins simply from the intensity of Dis' gaze drilling into the back of Algun's head.

"It was of the usual sort," Thorin grumbled back.

Suddenly Algun's hand halted, and she lifted her eyes. Some sort of new glimmer shone in them, and her lips twitched. He gave her a questioning look.

"You should come and observe, my lady," Algun said still without breaking the link of their gazes. "Perhaps, tomorrow. It's quite fascinating. Lord Dwalin was said to have destroyed four dummies yesterday."

Thorin peeked. Dis looked… dazed. He shifted his eyes on the needlemaster, and saw her slightly tilt her head with a pointed expression.

"Come tomorrow, Dis. I'm sure Dwalin… and others will be happy to see you. And it won't hurt for you to train as well," he said.

He didn't manage a tone as nonchalant as Algun's, but it didn't seem to matter. Dis perked up in the armchair.

"I'll ask him to spar with you," Thorin continued. "Fili is still healing, and Kili practices archery at that hour."

"Well, if there is no one else," Dis drew out.

She rose and came up to the table where Algun had placed the samples of silks. Halda started showing them to the matron, and Thorin smirked.

"Clever," he murmured.

"That I am," Algun quipped back in her usual cheeky manner, and then he saw her recoil.

"Aye, you are," he said softly.

She shyly looked up, and he gave her a small smile. A pause stretched, growing rather intense; and then she pulled her hands away from his body and stepped back.

"Please, don't move. I'll… go take more pins."

She hastily walked away from him to her basket on the table. Thorin shook his head lightly. Nothing was to be done here.

* * *

The bookkeeper was scribbling furiously in a ledger when he looked up from his calculation.

"Are you in a rush, my lady?" he asked with a chuckle.

She froze and slowly lifted her eyes.

"Pardon me, my lord. But... yes." She blushed. "I am to meet my friends after our appointment."

"Oh that sounds pleasant," he answered. "Going to the market?"

He was stalling. He'd rather she talked to him than go back to having her nose down into the book.

For some reason the question flustered her even more.

"Um… not exactly. Just sort of… for a walk," she muttered and twirled the quill in her fingers.

"Have you made good friends in Erebor? I saw you at the revels with the apprentices. One of them is Gloin's niece three times removed, if I'm not wrong. Nis?"

"Aye, I have. Nis and Ada are my closest friends. We share a chamber," the girl answered. "There are... others too."

"And back in Dale? Is anyone missing you?"

She shook her head.

"Are you planning to never go back there then?" he asked.

She whipped her face up and stared at him.

"May I?" she asked in a small voice, and he barked a guffaw.

"You may do whatever you want. You have a vocation and a future here, but perhaps it's not enough?" he asked feeling quite clever directing the conversation to the topic of interest. "If it's family life you're seeking."

He knew she didn't, she'd told him so herself.

"Well, regarding that-" she started but stopped abruptly and frowned. "It's of no importance. As for returning to Dale, I wish I could. All those moons ago you and King Bard entrusted me with the task of improving some aspects of the trade between the cities, and I feel I have failed you. But as eager as I am to return to my responsibilities, I'm afraid I won't be accepted now that my true self is revealed."

"You can't know unless you ask," Thorin said softly. "Would you like me to write a letter to King Bard?"

"No!" she exclaimed. She then took a slow breath in, and put down the quill. "Or perhaps, yes? I do not know. I've been hiding for so many years that the sheer thought of speaking about it openly terrifies me."

"You are open about being a woman in Erebor. Though, I understand it's different, since you are in no danger of being paid male attentions."

She once again threw him an odd wide-eyed glance. Thorin gave her a comforting smile.

"Perhaps, you should write a letter to King Bard asking if he's still willing to employ my services, considering my new circumstances," she finally said. "Master Svuir told me last week that he wouldn't oppose to me travelling occasionally back to Dale as long as it doesn't interfere with my studies. So if you ever need me as your scribe-"

"As my counsellor," Thorin corrected gently, and she blushed even more furiously.

"You're flattering me."

"I'm doing no such thing. You're a weighmaster, not a scribe." Thorn leaned back in his chair. "I'll let you know what he answers next time we meet."

"Thank you."

She returned his smile and went back to her writing. He watched the golden crown of hair, and the long fingered hand smoothly gliding on the page. He opened his mouth to ask about that chamber she shared with her friends. He just wanted to talk to her some more, no matter what about. But before the words came out she looked up.

"Is it the betrothal?" she asked quietly.

"Pardon?"

"Is it your betrothal with Mistress Algun that is bothering you? You seem distracted. Well, not distracted," she rushed to correct herself. "Less focused. What I mean to say, did you want to talk about… something?"

The little squeaks she was making amused him, and he laughed.

"No, my lady, I do not wish to discuss my unfortunate betrothal to Mistress Algun. It's over with and is really of no importance here."

"Oh," she exhaled.

He stared at her rounded lips.

He hadn't noticed when he'd picked up the letter opener that he was playing with. He'd only noticed when the blade slipped from between his fingers and slid along his palm, cutting deeply.

He hissed and dropped the blade.

"Oh, Maiar!" she gasped and jumped to her feet.

Thorin swallowed a dirty swearing in Khuzdul. She rushed to him, pulling a handkerchief out of her belt sachet.

"Let me," she exclaimed and pressed the white square into his palm.

Her strong hands wrapped around his, and she squeezed.

"See? You're clearly distracted!" she said, as if softly chiding a child. "I doubt a skillful swordsman like you would cut himself otherwise."

"I don't normally fight with a letter opener, my lady," he jested.

"Oh, it looks rather deep," she murmured, momentarily lifting the cloth off his palm. "You might need stitches."

Some sort of sweet light smell emanated from her hair and her skin, something flowery. He could see the tendon on the side of her neck, and a golden strand curling on it. The hair - so soft looking, so glossy - put away in a heavy braid around her head shone in the morning light, rushing through the window of his study. He'd chosen this room since it had windows unlike most halls. Years spent on the road had made him dependent on the sunlight in his mood.

She made a tsk-tsk noise, and he couldn't tear his eyes off her lips. Her jaw was delicate, skin like marble, and a heartbeat thrashed on her throat. He could just lean ahead and press his mouth over it, he thought.

He recoiled from the thought. The hunger and the greed felt foreign, shameful. His desire for Algun had been light, easy, prosaic. She was a woman who could become his wife and bear his children. She was beautiful and charming. It had never been that painful, that excruciating as the yearning he felt at the moment. He now saw why it was called 'aching for a woman.'

He pulled at his hand, and the bookkeeper released it.

"I think I'll call for a healer," Thorin muttered, turning away from her sharply.

It would be easier to restrain himself if he couldn't see her shoulders, her neck, her lips.

"Allow me!"

She as much as leaped to the wall to pull the bell. Her shoulder brushed to his, and Thorin winced.

"You should go meet your friends," he said blankly. "I can't write, and you are right, I have a lot on my mind. I should probably focus on those matters."

"Of course." She nodded and smiled at him.

She stood by his table, rocking on her heels. He wished she left already. Frustration was growing inside.

A servant came in, and then left in search of a healer. Thorin considered walking to the infirmary himself, just to escape her presence.

Finally a healer arrived, the girl collected her belongings, and left after a hurried goodbye and wishing him a speedy recovery. When the door closed behind her, Thorin heavily sat down in his chair.


	32. In the Act

A week after the incident with the letter opener, Eorwyn was walking alongside Amri through the Lower Passages. It was a busy hallway, and from time to time she'd dive behind him, letting him cut through the crowd while she'd hide in his 'backwash.'

He turned a corner, and she realised they were alone.

"We can cut through a passage here," he said, and stretched his hand to her. "I found this path a fortnight ago. It'll save us some time and we'll avoid the crowd."

Eorwyn took his hand and followed him readily. He continued telling her of 'that one Dwarf from Iron Hills who'd learnt reduce the size of the pit in the mountain-removing method of ore mining,' when he stopped and looked at her.

"Am I being tedious, my heart?"

A warm smile played on his lips.

"Not at all!" Eorwyn answered hotly. "I'm not sure I understand all of it, but—"

He suddenly leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Eorwyn gasped. His breath smelled of the apples they'd been eating, and his lips were warm. The whiskers of his moustache tickled her upper lip. She didn't expect they would, but after all she'd never been kissed before.

He winced back and looked into her face.

"Forgive me," he muttered. It sounded a bit like a question.

"You're forgiven," Eorwyn said and giggled.

"I know I shouldn't have," he said and shook his head. "It had been presumptuous, and—"

She picked up the collar of his doublet and gently tugged. He grinned, looking surprised and pleased, and leaned in again, this time slowly. They were of the same height, and the last thing she noticed was easy it was to let him find her lips.

Some sort of sweet tingle ran the back of her neck and her shoulders, and she arched into him. He had his eyes closed, while she peeked. Like most Dwarves, he had thick fluffy lashes, to match the bushy eyebrows and the mane of dark brown waves. He places one of his hands on her lower back, pulling her closer, and she let her hands fall on his chest.

He tore his lips away from hers, and peered into her eyes.

"Eorwyn, do you— Will you allow me to court you?"

She had thought of it, of course she had. It's been a fortnight since the revel he'd proposed to her at, and there hadn't been a day when she wouldn't think about him. But she had no answer.

"I— Could I think some more?" she asked quietly, and he frowned.

"I don't want you to think that I'm being disrespectful, and that I take advantage of you—" he started.

Eorwyn decided to apply the same method as before and pulled at his collar. He emitted a surprised snort, but obeyed. The second kiss was only sweeter.

* * *

In the next fortnight, they'd spent their free time together, almost every day; and every time the same proceedings would take place. They'd kiss, and he would ask whether she was ready to enter an official courtship with him; and she'd ask for more kisses to distract him from the question.

And then one day he found her in the Erebor Library, in one of the back rows, among the ancient volumes on the weightmastery of the old. She was balancing a large stack of books, standing on a tall ladder, when he called her name from underneath.

She smiled widely, and he stretched his arms up, to help her descend. She started slowly going up, and then she passed the books down to him with a laugh.

"Take them first," she said.

He chuckled.

"I'd rather pick _you_ up, my heart. Even with this cargo you weigh little!"

"Behave yourself," she whispered. "You are in a _library_!"

"You say it as if it's a sacred place."

She took another step down, and suddenly his hands lay on her waist. Eorwyn gasped. As many kisses as they had exchanged, his hands had always remained on her shoulders in the most respectful manner. His palms on her sides, as if burning through the velvet of her dress, were… unnerving.

"A library is a sacred place," she said and then giggled. "Do take me down already. My head spins."

It did - but not from the height of the ladder.

Amri picked her up and carefully lowered her near him on the floor. The books ended up locked between their bodies, and she pushed them to a table nearby. She turned to Amri and saw hungry fire burn in his eyes.

Eorwyn slowly placed her hands on his chest and gave him a look from under lowered lashes.

"Ibinê," he whispered raspily in Khuzdul.

His hands laid on her sides again and he jerked her towards him. He'd never been that impatient before. Eorwyn's heart beat frantically. Excitement buzzed through her veins. A strange feeling - something akin power perhaps - made her feel almost muddled.

"What does it mean?"

She'd never tried to learn any Khuzdul before, out of reverence towards the traditions of the Dwarves, but she wanted to know now.

"My gem," he whispered, and his gaze fell on her lips.

Eorwyn momentarily questioned whether she was bold enough to kiss and caress in a library - and understood that she very much was. She gathered a fistful of his doublet and pulled. His lips crashed into hers.

"Release her!" a loud voice barked behind them, and Eorwyn jerked in Amri's embrace.

He didn't let her go. She could see his wide open eyes and bewildered expression in front of her, and mortified she thrashed in his arms.

"Amri!" she called, hoping to shake him out of his stupor, and then a large hand grabbed the doublet on his shoulder.

He was jerked, shaken, and then pushed, with so much force that he stumbled and flew across the passage between the shelves, eventually tumbling on his side.

Eorwyn's gaze flew up, and she stared into the eyes of the King Under the Mountain. They were dark blue, blazing, enraged, almost like storm clouds, and she saw his bared teeth.

And then he stepped towards her, and she shied away.

"Are you alright, Eorwyn?" he asked.

The only thought occupying her mind was the sudden shock from how tender his voice sounded.

"My lord, you've misunderstood-" Amri started, and the King whipped his head.

He spat out a few phrases in Khuzudl, which Eorwyn didn't understand, but to imagine their meaning wasn't hard.

"Pardon us, my lord, it was indeed disrespectful-" she started, but then winced back from the dark stare the King threw at her.

"Disrespectful?! Do you not understand what you allowed him?"

Eorwyn dropped her gaze to the ground.

"And you!" the King addressed Amri and added another string of harsh phrases in Khuzdul.

"No, no, it's not like that! I'm no degenerate!" Amri had jumped to his feet, and now he stepped forward, shielding Eorwyn from the King. "My people connect and marry with the Men! I have proposed official courtship to her!"

A pause hung in the air, and Eorwyn dared a peek. The King stood with his fist lifted, as if he'd been intending to strike Amri, but his face now expressed the most obvious bewilderment.

"Marry a woman of Men? How is this possible?" he muttered and looked at Eorwyn. "Did you know of it?"

Eorwyn took a deep breath in. Her dread was now ebbing. And then the understanding came.

"Did you- Did you think he was molesting me?" she asked, and then King stepped back, lowering his hand.

"I thought, you are… you're young. Perhaps you didn't know what you were allowing."

"I have every intention of marrying Maiden Eorwyn if she has me," Amri said firmly, and the King threw him an irked look.

"Did she know of it?"

"Of course," Amri and Eorwyn answered together.

"I just needed more time to think," Eorwyn said.

"I didn't know that Dwarves and Men-" King Thorin started, and then he cleared his throat. "I assumed you were safe in Erebor," he now addressed Eorwyn, and she gave him a questioning look.

"Safe?"

"From male interest," he grumbled, less and less looking threatening now. "You'd told me you wanted to avoid it as much as possible, and I assumed since Dwarves didn't marry-"

"My clans do," Amri interjected but quickly closed his mouth under the King's heavy look.

"Amri had told me of the traditions of his people, and he had been nothing but honourable towards me," Eorwyn rushed to reassure the King. "No dishonour took place here, just… dalliances."

She blushed furiously. Amri stepped closer and picked up her hand.

The King's gaze shifted between them, and then his face grew reserved.

"Well, then I… apologise for jumping to conclusions. It seems you both know what you're doing, and-" He didn't finish, and some sort of a grimace ran his features.

He then turned sharply around and marched away from them. Eorwyn stared into his back confused.

A few seconds later she turned to Amri, who was rubbing his side.

"I can feel he's upset, but I can't tell why," Eorwyn muttered. "As if I disappointed him. Do you think it's because his own betrothal had been broken off?"

Amri was now picking up her books that had fallen when his back had smashed into the table. Suddenly Eorwyn wondered if he was avoiding looking at her.

"Amri?"

"No, my heart, I don't think that's why the King was upset to find you kissing me in a passage," Amri answered and then started walking carrying her books away.

Eorwyn gawked and then she had to rush after him. He had her volumes!


	33. All Good Things

Thorin's thoughts kept constantly straying to the question in the days to come - but he couldn't just come up to someone and ask, 'Did you know that the Dwarves of the East marry women of Men?' It couldn't be Dis, she'd get ideas into her empty head. It couldn't be Balin, the old man would start _assuming_. Dwalin wouldn't care. Kili and Fili were too young. And, for Mahal's sake, it's not like he ever discussed his private thoughts with anyone!

And what was there to discuss, he'd scoff in his mind. He was shocked of course: he'd regarded his own feelings and urges as an oberration, he'd felt his desire for her was wrong, unnatural. And now it turned out it was quite alright to crave her… to kiss her, to caress her, to have her in one's arms like that rake had! Thorin would fist his hand, and his jaws would clench painfully at the thought of her delicate body, arched, pressed into another.

It was jealousy, he now saw clearly - plain, unadulterated, possessive jealousy of a male. It was so simple, really! How could he have been so blind?! He was infatuated with her! He craved her, body and mind!

And then he'd recoil from the thought. Even now, when he knew that it was possible - to speak of love to her, to satisfy his thirst for her, to enter a physical union with her - he still had no right to even consider it. He was the King Under the Mountain! He was the King of the Longbeards! He was to marry a Dwarven maiden from an old family, to father an heir, to have a Queen who knew what was expected of her.

There was another painful doubt in his mind. Even if he forgot his duty, threw the customs of his people aside, if he spoke openly of the ache and the tenderness he felt… would she answer truthfully? Would she accept him and give herself to him because she felt just as starved for him - or would she submit out of gratitude, the gratitude she'd spoken of so many times? He was a King, no one refused him.

And then his final thought would come: it all mattered not. She was another's now. He'd close his eyes and see her just as she'd been in the library: her eyes half lidded, her arms wrapped around that young Dwarf's neck.

And then he'd stop himself, shake his head, and go back to the matters at hand. And then the urge would come to find someone and to ask, 'Did you know that the Dwarves of the East marry the women of Men?'

* * *

Through her next three visits, they both behaved as if nothing happened. She'd come with her books; they worked through parchments and calculations; and twice they shared a lunch just as before. She seemed quieter than usual; but he wasn't in a chatty mood either.

And then she came to his study, at the usual hour - and he saw she'd been crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and her nose was pink. The corners of her bright red lips were lowered mournfully. She tried to hide her face from him, but he of course noticed.

In normal circumstances, with anyone else, he'd be grateful for a chance to avoid discussing someone else's preoccupation and, especially, to avoid dealing with a woman's tears. He'd had quite enough of this malarkey with Dis.

"Are you alright, my lady?" he asked softly while she was leaning down fishing her utensils out of the bag.

She lifted her miserable face and sniffled. Some sort of piercing tenderness flooded him. He felt helpless, unprepared for the protectiveness that almost made him stretch his hand and cover her delicate fingers on the table.

"Aye, I am," she answered quietly. "It's nothing really… Just… I have no one to ask about such things, and..." She trailed away and shook her head. "Pardon me, my lord."

"What matters?" he asked.

She continued looking away from him, and her small fingers fluttered on her quills and the compass, rearranging them on the table.

"Eorwyn," he called her quietly; and her eyes flew up.

Her even white teeth worried the red bottom lip. He found this habit of hers charming.

"You can confide in me," he said and stretched his hand to her.

He opened his palm, inviting her in a touch, not wishing to impose. She put her hand in his readily. What a difference it had been from their previous notable touches: the one in the Elvenking's dungeons, or in the infirmary in the first moons in Erebor.

She sighed and gave him a melancholy smile.

"My association with Amri has ended," she whispered. "The young Dwarf you've… caught me with." She lifted her eyes at him. Her nose twitched in a nervous, embarrassed gesture. "I do hope you know how regretful I am for such impropriety."

He nodded, hardly caring what she'd said after the word 'ended.' His mind was now sharply focused on only one thought: she was unattached now!

"It has never been official," she explained further. "He had always wished to formalise our relationship. There has been no dishonour! Perhaps, we have behaved inappropriately, but it all was quite innocent, and..."

She continued talking, and Thorin closed his fingers around her hand. Her long delicate fingers trembled.

"... and then he has grown dissatisfied with me," she finished with another sigh.

Thorin gave her a questioning look.

"I just… I truly don't know why… Well, I do, but..." she muttered.

"But what?" Thorin asked, keeping his tone even and soft.

A suspicion crept in his mind, what that 'dissatisfaction' could have been. And if indeed the young _abrâfu shaikmashâz _had asked of her something she hadn't been willing to give, and if he had had the nerve to _insist…_ Thorin would start by breaking his jaw. _Start_.

"I think I was just not ready..." she whispered.

Thorin kept his face schooled in a considerate expression, while making graphic plans for the young Dwarf's extremities.

"He kept asking me to announce our courtship, and I just… couldn't. Perhaps, I was scared. I still am. Everything would change. And for the first time in my life, I'm… happy!" she exclaimed and threw him a pleading look. "I'm so happy in your Mountain. I'm allowed to be myself, and my studies go so well. I have friends, and..." She paused and shook her head again. "And he had gotten more and more impatient, and then he… he said I was toying with him. And perhaps, he was right!" Her face twisted in anguish.

"Has he been… cruel? Aggressive?" Thorin asked.

"No, no! Never!" Her eyes grew misted, and she blinked frantically. "He's always been… tender. Kind. I will miss it so!"

She swallowed and pulled her hand out of his. She rummaged in her belt bag and pulled out a small handkerchief. She drew a sharp breath, reining her affliction. The tears in her eyes didn't spill, and she crumpled the handkerchief in agitation.

"Do you miss her?" she asked quietly and threw him a sympathetic look.

"Whom?" Thorin gave her a confused look.

"Mistress Algun," she whispered.

Thorin shook his head. To think of it, he hadn't thought of the needlemaster in weeks.

"Oh," she exhaled. "I see… It was uncouth of me to ask. Forgive me. I just… I just feel so empty." She looked aside, her unseeing eyes brushing at the tapestry on the wall. "It's quite an unfair arrangement, really."

"What is?"

His gaze roamed her profile: the pressed lips, the bitter lines in the corners of her mouth, her long lashes wet with the tears that never spilled.

"One day he will find another. I do hope he does, don't misunderstand me. I hope it happens quickly for him. He is truly deserving of happiness and fulfillment. But it will never happen to me again. My first… infatuation - it'll be my last."

"You're still young, Eorwyn," Thorin clumsily tried to comfort her.

She suddenly laughed, a strange joyless laugh.

"Aye, I am. But I'm also not a Dwarf," she said pointed.

He frowned.

"What does it matter?"

"It matters. If I am fortunate enough to stay in your Mountain and to find a vocation here, I will forever be a foreign being. If I go back to my people, I will be forced to give up my true love, my numbers. I much prefer the former." She sadly looked down at her clenched hands on her lap. "It felt wonderful to be… to be allowed to be... me. A woman. I miss it. I miss the feeling more than anything. The freedom, the… lightness." She once again shook her head. "I don't want to seem ungrateful, I have been accepted and comfortable here. I was allowed to wear, to say, and to do what I wanted, what I felt was for me to choose. I'll be content," she said to herself. "I will just… miss being fully… Eorwyn."

Silence fell in the room. And then she slowly turned and looked at him.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"For listening. For being my friend." That was when tears ran her cheeks. "For always being there for me." She chuckled through tears. "I doubt you're enjoying my endless maudlin talking. Thank you for enduring it."

She then turned to the table and nodded to her thoughts.

"Well, enough of this. It's time to go back to the ordinary life," she muttered, picked up her quill, and opened her ledger.

Thorin watched her silently and then followed her example.


	34. An Emissary

A moon later King Bard was to arrive with an official visit following the short exchange of letters with King Thorin regarding 'Weightmaster Eorwyn.'

Eorwyn was shaking so much getting dressed that her fingers didn't obey her. Ada came up to her and started buttoning her doublet.

"Breathe, little bird," the Dwarven maiden said, and Eorwyn gave out a shaky laugh.

"She's right," Nis said from her bed. "You don't want to drop senseless in the King's study."

Eorwyn nodded and looked herself over in the mirror. When King Thorin had told her that King Bard had been informed of her true nature and that he wished to speak to her and to discuss her future, she'd understood she needed to prepare for the meeting. Using the silver she'd saved tutoring, she'd purchased herself a new dress and a doublet that went over it. It was of an austere design, dark blue, with buttons going up the tall collar. The skirt was heavy and unadorned. There were no frivolous details, no lace, no brocade. The cut of the doublet was masculine and strict.

"You look dull and serious," Ada said, and Nis laughed.

"Perfect," Eorwyn said.

"I still don't understand why you decided on this approach. Surely, an expensive dress and jewellery would impress him more."

"I haven't married a rich man while I lived here," Eorwyn said and tucked a stray curl back into her tight braid. "I've learnt a skill, which I hope to apply to benefit both Kingdoms. I need them to take me seriously."

"You have King Thorin to vouch for your skill, silly," Nis said. "They won't dare to even look at you wrong."

Eorwyn nodded and exhaled.

"I know. That's the only thing that keeps me from fainting."

"If they say anything disrespectful, he'll just give them the _look_." Ada gave Eorwyn a wink in the mirror. "You know the look, right?"

"I'm familiar," Eorwyn said and chuckled.

"Ooph, even thinking about displeasing him makes me shiver," Nis said. "Last week I was in the forges with my Master, and the Chief Smith was talking to the King, and I reckon that something had gone wrong. I thought the Chief would have a dropsy. That dark silent look! And the brows! And the eyes are like ice! Terrifying!"

Nis shimmied her shoulders, as if actually shivering, and Eorwyn looked at her askance. She knew of how the King was perceived of course… but somehow she just never felt intimidated by him. When thinking of him she felt… fondness. It was a warm, kindred sentiment, filling her entirely, without a doubt or a shadow. She admired him of course, and respected him, as many others - and yet there was some sort of lightness to her affection. He… amused her, in the most genial way: his habits, his quirks, his sense of humour, his smile, and his laugh. She'd never seen anything but kindness and generosity from him - how could she feel anything but pure appreciation for him?

* * *

She entered the study, and her eyes immediately searched for the King. She met his blue eyes, and a tight icy coil in her heart melted away.

"Maiden Eorwyn, I presume," the voice of King Bard made her whip her head.

He stood by the wall, his posture rigid and awkward.

"Master Eorwyn," King Thorin corrected and stepped ahead. "Afternoon, my lady."

He stretched his hand to her, and she placed her hand into his palm. The hot calloused skin felt endlessly comforting. He led her to his desk, and she understood that the tall chair placed there was for her. It was on his side of the table, the chair only slightly shorter than his. She sat and jerked her chin up.

"So, you took my scribe and educated… her to your liking?" King Bard said.

The Dwarf King threw her a look as if asking how she wanted to proceed. Eorwyn took a discreet measured breath.

'I'm a student of Master Svuir. I'm a weightmaster. I'm Eorwyn. I can do it,' she chanted internally.

"I have only been following your order, my lord," she said, surprised by how calm her voice sounded. "I was told to learn of the Dwarven measurements and weights, to help the trade."

"That is highly… untraditional," King Bard said slowly.

He looked tired and thinned. The Winter had taken its toll on him, just as it had on all his people, Eorwyn assumed.

"Untraditional?" one of his counsellors scoffed.

The King of Men had brought two Men with him, the same two who had visited Erebor the first time Eorwyn had been here.

"It's not 'untraditional,'" the Man continued. "It's simply unacceptable. She's a woman!"

"Is she?" King Thorin exclaimed, his left eyebrow jumping up sardonically. "What a shock! We haven't noticed!"

Eorwyn met his eyes and couldn't help but giggle. His eyes were twinkling, and the left corner of his lips was curled up.

"That's not a laughing matter!" the same Man barked.

"Is it not?" King Thorin turned to him and tilted his head. "Because, as I see it, Master Eorwyn was sent here to learn numbers. And she succeeded. The fact that you're preoccupied with the question of her gender _is_ laughable."

Eorwyn saw that the Man wanted to argue, but shied away under the Dwarf's gaze. Anyone would. Nis had been right, King Thorin's stare was simply glacial when he was displeased.

"The way I see it, we could have asked for a weighmaster and have gotten a Dwarven maiden," King Bard said quietly, and everyone looked at him. "Do I understand it right that your people treat men and women equally, and both possess a craft?"

"They do. My treasurer is a dame. My Chief Healer is a dame. And I'm certain many of my officials are female as well. But I couldn't tell you how many since we do not keep track," King Thorin said sarcastically. "As long as they do their job well, none of their personal attributes interest me."

King Bard nodded and sighed.

"When she was a scribe-" he started, but King Thorin interrupted him.

"Pardon me, my lord, but Master Eorwyn is in the room." The blue eyes of the Dwarven King were narrowed, and his voice dropped menacingly.

King Bard looked between him and Eorwyn, and then sighed again.

"I beg forgiveness, Master Eorwyn," he said and gave her a tight smile. "It'll take a while to get used to it. You must understand we were brought up to expect a man in your position."

"I understand, my lord," she said softly. "And I ask forgiveness for my deceit."

King Bard nodded again.

"When you were a scribe, Master Eorwyn, you have shown an excellent skill. What are your credentials now?"

"Master Svuir, the royal bookkeeper, has been my mentor," Eorwyn answered. "You can't find a person more equipped to teach in trade. I have experience in bookkeeping and trade among Men as well." She inhaled and gave the King of Men a firm direct look. "Nothing has changed, my lord. I'm just wearing a dress. My knowledge and my mind are the same."

The same counsellor made a derisive noise.

"With all due respect, I don't see how a maiden could be trusted with any trade documents," he said. "And she's young, inexperienced. And didn't she disappear for a while there? Where had she been for a moon or so?" He threw King Thorin a rebellious look. "I remember your letter from a couple moons ago. You were looking for her. Sent your spies to find her, if memory serves me right."

Eorwyn whipped her head and stared at King Thorin. She didn't know of his search efforts. She assumed it had happened after she had been kidnapped from the infirmary.

"And all and all," the Man continued jeering, "Your patronage of the girl seems most inappropriate. And suspicious. What's your _interest_ in her?"

Eorwyn wasn't naive, she understood the insult and the indecent meaning hidden in the question. She didn't even look at King Thorin to see how he reacted. She saw red.

"How dare you even assume such dishonour! You see, Master Hamar, that is where the inconvenience of being a female lies," she hissed. "If I were a man, I'd fix your nose right now, to remind you to keep it out of other people's business."

The Man jumped to his feet, only to sink back to his seat, the heavy hand of King Bard pressing on his shoulder.

"Master Eorwyn is right," he said. "You're being out of line, Master Hamar. And you, my lord," he addressed the Dwarven King, "You're right as well. As long as a person fulfills their duty, nothing else matters. And it's in the interest of my Kingdom to utilise the skills of Master Eorwyn. We _need_ the trade with your people, my lord. And to succeed we need to accept our differences, in our cultures including. If you chose Master Eorwyn as your emissary, she's welcome."

King Thorin gave him a slow nod, almost a bow; and King Bard turned to Eorwyn.

"You are welcome in my Kingdom, Master Eorwyn," he repeated.

All she could do was to mimic King Thorin's nod. She'd always admired his ability to look both courteous and dignified. She caught his movement from the corner of her eye and looked. He leaned back in his chair, and a warm lop-sided smile played on his lips. Eorwyn blushed, flattered by the approval in his eyes.

"Well, with this settled," he said. "Let's talk trade."


	35. It Springs at You

"It's Spring," she exhaled, and Thorin chuckled.

"Indeed it is," he said, and she turned and gave him a bewildered look.

"I haven't been… outside for so long. I lost track of time. It's just… It's Spring!"

She pointed at the landscape lying underneath, behind the gate. He laughed in amusement. There was some sort of an innocent glee in her voice. She stood near him on one of the Erebor balconies.

"And there is almost no ice on the lake!" she exclaimed.

He saw then that she shivered.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

The tip of her nose was pink, and she'd wrapped her arms around herself.

"I am, to be honest. I'll need to have a coat made for me. Or a cloak."

Her eyes were roaming the valley lying between the Great Gate and Dale. Thorin took off his doublet and threw it over her shoulders. She jolted and looked at him in surprise.

"Thank you."

She smiled at him, and he returned the gesture.

"And thank you for bringing me here. I know I still have a week before it's time for me to go to Dale, but I wanted to prepare."

She pushed her nose in the collar of the doublet.

"It's only a two hour ride there," he said. "It's not like you're leaving for long."

She nodded, half her face still hidden.

"You'll stay there for a few days, just to look around. And you can always just come back. I'll send a few guards with you."

Her eyes widened.

"What for?" She sounded choked. "I'll be safe there. I'd lived in Dale. And now I'm an emissary of Erebor. King Bard promises rooms prepared for me."

"Humour me," he grumbled.

He didn't want her to go. Something nagged at his mind. He looked at the small pink ear sticking from under the collar of his doublet. He didn't trust the Bargeman. He didn't like his people. He'd rather have her in his Mountain, happily going about her day, rushing to studies, and then coming to his study to work on his contracts and his ledgers. He'd rather have her somewhere he could protect her, take care of her, if she ever needed him. Even those few miles separating him from her were too much.

She muttered something.

"Pardon?" he asked and stepped closer.

He was feeling cold now, the cool air was crawling under the collar of his tunic.

"Nothing, it's nothing." She shook her head. "It's just so… grey. Unwelcoming."

"The city of Men?" he asked, and she nodded.

Suddenly he wanted to tell her to forget about Dale, to stay with him. His fingers twitched, in the acute desire to lift his hand, and touch her shoulder. Or to wrap his arm around her, to pull her closer. To ask her to stay… With him. For his selfish desire to have her near. She could take care of herself. He was the one who needed this proximity.

"We should go inside," she murmured and pulled off his doublet.

She pushed it into his hands and walked inside by him. He threw a last look at the city of Men and put his doublet on. The flower smell of her perfume tickled his nose.

* * *

Two days later she entered his study for their second last meeting before she was to leave. He greeted her from his desk, half rising, his eyes still on the papers he was signing. He then sat back in his chair, still without looking up. There was no answer to his greeting, and he finally lifted his gaze.

She looked ill. Her skin was pale, ashen, eyes red-rimmed and sunken. Her intense gaze was fixed on his face. She was pressing her bag to her chest, as if shielding herself with it.

"What is it?" he asked, immediately worried.

She shook her head jerkily and walked up to his desk. She sat down, placed the bag on her lap, but didn't open it.

"Eorwyn, what happened?!"

"I had a… row with Amri," she said and lifted her feverish eyes at him. "We still see each other occasionally, and every time it ends in a row."

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. The bag slid off her lap and landed onto the floor with a dull thud.

"That _kakhuf inbarathrag!_" Thorin gritted through his teeth.

"It's always the same," she continued, her eyes lowered to her hands, folded on her lap. "I assume he's still hurting… And I had toyed with him, he's right."

"Eorwyn-" Thorin interrupted, but she frantically shook her head.

"Please, let me speak," she said. "I'm not… not just bemoaning. Today was… different. It's always the same chain of… grievances. Then, before our separation, he had been insisting on starting the courtship formally; I had been evasive. But then, after that day in the library, he'd become… agitated, and disagreeable… And..."

She suddenly raised her eyes at him, and a grimace ran her face now.

"He told me today that _you_ were the reason. That he had been... jealous." Some sort of a pained sound bubbled in her throat. "I told him he was preposterous, that he was… I was not his property! And besides, I said to him, it made no sense. And he..." Her lips twisted. "He said, 'It's always him!' and that I spent too much time with you and... that I speak of you as if you're some sort of a paragon! And that I run to you whenever you call, and… and other preposterous things, and then… Then he started screaming, and accusing me of being blind, and a child, and that I just couldn't see it. That you… That you…"

She couldn't continue, and she stared at him, her eyes widened. The pupils were dilated, frantic - and terrified. He recognised the emotion written on her face. It was fear. He noticed that she hadn't moved the chair close to his desk, and her body was rigid.

"Eorwyn..." he said quietly and leaned ahead.

She startled, and winced away - confirming to his that she was afraid.

"Is it true?" she breathed out, and her eyes searched his face.

He was silent.

"Was he even remotely right?" she asked.

Tears ran her cheeks now, and she looked devastated.

"He said I was an idiot that I didn't see it. That you..." She once again stumbled over the words, they seem to have stuck in her throat.

Thorin felt anger rise. Why was she _accusing_ him of it? She was, wasn't she? Of desiring her? Of seeing her as a woman? Why had it been met with delight when coming from the young Dwarf and later lamented the loss of? Meanwhile, Thorin was treated like a traitor!

"He's right," Thorin answered quietly and met her eyes.

She gasped and recoiled from him.

"No! He said you... that you kept me in the Mountain because at the end you were hoping I'd be your mistress, that-"

"Eorwyn, never!" he exclaimed, and she pressed her head into her shoulders frightened by his shout.

He suddenly felt dismayed. He simply didn't know how to manage this conundrum.

"Do you honestly think so low of me?" he asked helplessly.

"But you never said anything!" she as much as shouted. Tears dried on her face, and red spots flamed up on her cheekbones. "I thought you were my friend!"

"I _am_ your friend," he said.

"You've lied to me! You kept telling me how I was safe in Erebor! And then when Amri left me, you let me believe that he was the only man who'd ever show any interest in me!"

"It's not true!" Thorin raised his voice affronted. Now she was twisting his words! "_You_ said you'd never love another. What was I to do? To barge in with confessions of my undying love for you?!"

His words hung in the room like rings of pipe smoke. Shock and pain mixed in her features.

"Do not jest of love," she whispered, her lips trembling again. "Do not deride it."

"I do not," he said darkly. "Eorwyn, it has all gone wrong," he tried again. "I admit hiding my… feelings from you, but I had a good reason for it."

She pursed her lips. A crinkle lay between her brows.

"Of course you did," she scoffed. "It is _me_ after all whom you had the misfortune of… having an interest in."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she interjected, "But as my friend you should have… should have been open with me." She drew a shuddering breath. "Everything seems like a lie now. I _have_ been blind, haven't I? What else did I not know?"

He listened silently.

"I can't be sure about anything now. Like my world is… upside down," she whispered.

"Eorwyn, nothing has changed," he said quietly. "We're still the same people. I _am_ your friend..."

"I know nothing would have come out of it!" she exclaimed.

Of course that had to come up in the discussion, he thought bitterly. She would now bring up the difference in their stature and how she couldn't be his wife and all other arguments he'd been repeating to himself for moons now.

"It will pass soon, I'm sure," she continued, and he frowned taken aback. "But you know my history! You know how terrifying it is to me to find out that I've been in danger this whole time!"

Rage was now taking over his mind. She was unfair and unjust!

"You have never been in any danger in my Mountain, especially from me!" he snarled at her. "Do not offend me with such words! And of course I hid my desire from you, exactly because of your history. Would you have stayed, would you have allowed me to help you, if you knew that I was infatuated with you?"

She was taking slow breaths, blood had rushed away from her face at his direct words. He, on the other hand, was starting to feel immense relief from having his feelings in the open.

"And do not presume that you know what I feel," he added through bared teeth. "That it'll 'pass soon.' It's not a whimsey. I'm not a youngling who knows not his heart."

"My lord Thorin..." she exhaled, and he realised he'd never heard her pronounce his name before.

It felt like a blade thrust in his chest.


	36. More Goodbyes

"I know not what to think," she said quietly.

She lifted her eyes at him and studied his face. She knew his face so well, she thought. The bright eyes, as if framed by the dark lashes; the heavy brows; his lips, pressed now in a thin bitter line. They'd spent so many hours together! They'd been through so much! It had always been kindness and warmth she'd seen in his features when he looked at her! How could she have missed what hid beneath?

Amri's words had frightened her so! And, to her own bewilderment, there had been anger in her mind and her heart! She had been betrayed! She had been deceived!

Except she wasn't.

She looked at the King now and saw the pain twist the same lips she'd seen smile at her so many times. Could he be right? Could it be more than a whimsey?! How hurting he must be! How unfair it was!

Oh how terrible it would be! For him to...

She recoiled from the thought. He couldn't… _love_ her. 'Love' was such a big word, it was strong, and eternal, and happened to others, never to her. She was Eorwyn, the small, the pitiful, the broken… the unwanted. And not _him_! _He _protected her, pitied her, he allowed her to stay, because he was kind and strong and generous. She was a stray cat, with its fur balding on the bony joints, always hungry, timid, and skittish. He let her in from the cold, he let her play and roam his halls. He was like an older brother - a step brother even. Eorwyn had had those. Step brothers tolerated the likes of her out of duty. The ones she'd lived with, bound by the same household, not by blood - they had been cruel. They'd hurt, _so much pain_, humiliated, and frightened her - simply because it made them mildly amused. The King was the step brother she never dreamt of having.

He'd helped her - but after that, she thought, _silly silly Eorwyn_, he'd never thought of her when she'd go about her day. When she'd left his study, she thought, he'd have forgotten about her.

Except now it seemed it was not so. Now she knew, he thought of her when she wasn't around. He _desired_ her. His mind, his thoughts followed her. The thought was like poison spilling down her throat.

She was never _free_ as she thought.

"I want to leave," she whispered.

He nodded. She was still intently watching his face, but it showed nothing. She knew what an excellent politician he was. She felt cold immediately, the trembling she'd had in her fingers turned into shaking, all her body tensing now.

He took a slow breath in. She saw his chest rise under the velvet doublet. _He'd given her a doublet, just a few days ago, on the balcony. It smelled of smoke, and some spicy oils, and soap. She didn't want to leave him then, to leave Erebor, to go back to being… alone._

"I have arranged another bookkeeper to take your responsibilities while you're in Dale," he said in a dull voice. "Bari, you've met him. I understand that you don't wish to see me now. He can start tomorrow then."

"You- You still want me to go to Dale just the same? As you emissary?" She couldn't believe her ears!

He frowned.

"Do you not want it?" He swallowed with difficulty, his throat in the swan collar jerked. "If you changed your mind-"

"I thought _everything_ would change now!" she blurted out, and something painfully clenched in her chest. "I thought-"

He made a sharp noise, not a laugh, but almost like a growl or a bark.

"What? What did you think?"

Suddenly his face distorted, in rage it seemed to her. She shrunk in her chair. She'd never before seen him like that, only in a fight, perhaps, with his eyes narrowed, like angry icy slits, and his teeth bared like a beast.

"Did you think I would throw you out of my Mountain because you don't return my feelings? Did you think your _friend_ Amri was right?" He was jeering, and his voice lost all its melody. "Do you think I'm like the Men in Dale, that you're just a _woman_ to me, and nether your talent, nor your will matter to me?"

"No!" she exhaled, and she tried, _she tried_, but sobs escaped, and she shook, and cried, although she fought!

She had to fight the tears! She'd grown so much here, in the peace and the freedom of Erebor! And yet, here she was, the little beat up girl, who had no name, nor family, nor a place to hide when someone wanted to hurt her. _And there had been so many who had! Their fists, and their boots, and even when she'd curl on the ground and had been so obviously defeated, they'd place another blow!_

"Not you..." she sobbed, and suddenly he was in front of her kneeling.

The world was a blur, through her tears, and the despair she felt.

"Amrâlimê," he murmured.

He stretched his hand to her, but didn't touch her.

"Forgive me," he said in a hollow voice. "That was unfair. I was cruel, and-"

"No, no," she sobbed, frantically shaking her head. Pain bloomed behind her eyes, in her temples, and made her brow heavy. "It was I who was unfair. Of course I never thought so low of you. I am just..."

"Scared," he finished.

She blinked, chasing away the tears. She could see him now, and she felt awful, from the ache splashing in his eyes.

"You should never be fearful of me… Please, Eorwyn," he said.

She saw him lift his hand again, and again, there was no touch.

_He had warm hands. She never recoiled from them, never. He'd carried her in Mirkwood, she could hardly remember it. The fur of the collar, and his skin near her, the strong neck… They were all dirty and tired, and the air was mirky then. Still, she'd told herself to stop fighting, and give up, and let her head rest on his shoulder. She'd noticed then how much warmer the Dwarves' skin was._

_She'd touched his hand in the dungeons, in a goodbye. And she'd wanted to hold it longer, to keep him near her longer. The strange feeling _\- not wishing to let them take him away from her - _was momentary. What madness it had been, she thought then. He wasn't hers to give up._

_He had been ill, already here in Erebor, and he'd held her hand, and he'd been wan and sleepy; and she thought if she leaned and pressed her cheek to his knuckles, or even placed a small kiss on the back of his hand, he wouldn't remember - and she'd laugh at this odd fantasy later._

"Does it… hurt?" she whispered. "Does it wound you that it's… _me_?" She had to bite into her bottom lip to keep the crying at bay.

He chuckled, a joyless dry sound in his throat.

"No, it doesn't." He smiled suddenly, a shadow of the old smiles he'd given to her.

_He'd said something then, about the cooks caring for her more than him, because there was a slice of cake on her tray. And his white teeth glimmered, and she thought how handsome he was. How beautiful. She'd never had a cake before coming to Erebor. Before he'd taken her in._

_There were scars on her hands, the jagged white lines, that would always remind her how he'd rushed into the infirmary._

_And then that day, with King Bard, and the words his counsellor had thrown to him. That he'd been searching for her, while she'd been in that cold cellar. She'd broken the glass, and it cut so painfully, and she'd crawled through, cutting her legs now, and she'd fallen into the snow, and there had been so much blood. But she'd made herself rise, and walk, and she had been certain she wouldn't reach the Mountain. And everything around had been white, and she kept wondering if the ice on the Lake would break under her, and then she'd fallen, and risen again. And suddenly the Erebor Valley was in front of her, and the Guarding Statues, the faces of the Dwarves of the Old, and they had his noble features… And she'd fallen by the Gates, and there had been voices from above… And she'd known she'd been saved._

"Eorwyn, please, know… it matters not. It changes nothing."

His tone was growing firmer. She met his eyes. They were calm, but they were also sad.

"I don't wish you any anguish," she started, but he interrupted.

"You are not at fault," he said. "It just happened. And I only regret you found out."

Eorwyn sniffled.

"Will it pass? Will we be friends again?" she asked in a small voice.

"We _are_ friends, Eorwyn," he said. "Nothing has changed. You will go to Dale, and then you'll come back to your service and your studies. As long as you wish everything to remain the same, it will."

She frowned, pondering his words. Perhaps, he was right. Perhaps, it could all remain just the same.

"Do you think you could find enough trust in your heart to remain my friend?" he asked softly.

Regret made her cringe. She'd remembered her own words of a few minutes ago.

"Forgive me," she said once again. Now, it was his turn to open his mouth, and her turn to interrupt. "Please, forgive me for my rash words, and the… accusations. You have been… kind, to keep it away from me. See how I reacted?" She laughed awkwardly. "The worst possible woman to be infatuated with, am I not?"

He didn't smile in return. She took a shuddering breath.

"And I do want everything to remain the same. And it will get better, will it not?" she said in a forced optimistic tone. "You will forget about this..." She shied away from how his face darkened. "Forgive me, I'm not presuming to tell you what to feel, or- It's just I'm no match for you, and it'll just-"

_She wanted to scream at him. For once, to be loud, and to be open, and to be heard. That she was not worthy. That she wasn't the one. That something had gone wrong, and that he couldn't possibly… care for her! Of course, he couldn't! And she needed to let him know that she understood, and that she regretted that he had to go through this - and that she would never remind him of it when he stopped loving her! 'Loving her' - what an absurd notion!_

_Amri had said… 'a toy.' That she was the King's 'toy.' Or more precisely, that she was to become one, that she was kept in the Mountain for when he decided to make his desire known. Just an exotic 'toy.' Not an interesting one, not something special in her own right, of course, she added in her mind. But different from the Dwarves; an oddity. _

_Always an oddity, among the Men as well._

_Then, in the second household she'd ever known, the place that never became her home, when she'd been given to that man, she had also been 'put on a shelf,' as the women in the house had explained to her. Like an apple to ripen up. And then, when she'd grown a bit, he'd have made her his 'toy,' just like all those girls in his house. Except she'd gotten out, and she'd never known what that 'play' was like, but she'd seen and heard enough to know that there was nothing worse than being someone's 'toy.'_

_And to the man kneeling in front of her now she couldn't even be a toy, could she? Because he was too noble, too beautiful, too unsullied to 'play.' She couldn't be anything except a mistress for a Dwarf, Amri was right, but King Thorin would never take one._

_But he could love._

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

He rose and walked away from her, around his desk. When he sat in his chair, his face was unreadable.

"Please, take the guards I've assigned to you to Dale. I don't trust the Men. And I expect constant reports from you." His voice was endlessly tired, raspy and monotonous.

Eorwyn nodded.

"I'll write to you," she said. "About the trade and-"

"Just as we discussed," he said and picked up a quill. "Send Bari in then, he's in the Smaller Library studying the contracts you've left for me."

Eorwyn rose. Her knees shook. Her thoughts muddled, she couldn't fathom what she was to do now, so she did what came naturally. She gave him a small bow and rushed out of the study. The first pained desperate sob escaped her before she could close the door, but she hoped he'd forgive her.

_End of Part IV_


	37. Rising Heat

_Part V_

Moons passed, and one evening, when a scorching day was stepping away, with the Sun almost at the horizon, Eorwyn sat in her study. The air was still hot, slowly moving in a weak breeze under the low ceiling. Eorwyn cringed. She thoroughly disliked having a window open in Dale. It always seemed to her that she could smell the Lake, and the fish, and the rotting wood of the burnt town even here. She visited Laketown almost every week, the renovations were on foot, and the delivery of timber, the most valued import to the town, had to be supervised. She could never eat after those visits. She also suffered from the heat. Her thoughts would stray to the cool halls of Erebor, and she'd prohibit herself the self-pity and the longing.

She straightened up a stack of parchments on the table, put her elbows down, and steepled her hands. She rested her chin on them and sighed. King Bard was late for their meeting.

Eorwyn had grown averse to being alone and unoccupied in the past months. Every time her mind was idle, it would go to the same subject. And no matter how much she tried, no matter how it pained her, she couldn't help but get afflicted by the same anguish.

She yearned to see the Dwarven King.

She did - and she told herself to stop, and that she had no right, and that she was the one who had left and stayed away all this time, although she could have returned at any point. But nothing helped. She used to delight in being alone, in being left to her own devices, to read and study when she wanted. And now she'd catch herself sitting with a book open on her lap, her unseeing eyes fixed on the wall, thoughts of what she'd left behind swirling in her mind.

His face, his eyes, his words from the last time she'd seen him stood in front of her internal gaze; and she'd go through everything they'd said to each other, and every time it would hurt anew; and regret, and sympathy, and affection would wash over her again and again.

Eorwyn decisively got up and walked to the shelf by the wall. She took out a ledger she was intending to work on after the upcoming meeting, and she put it on her table with a dull thud. She just needed to focus on her responsibilities, she told herself.

A knock came to her door when she'd finished the third table of expenses and earnings from the town's largest grain supplier. Eorwyn rose, smoothed her skirt, and invited the visitor in.

King Bard stepped in, and then another person followed - and Eorwyn couldn't hold back a small gasp. She didn't expect to have so little composure when she saw him again. She knew it would affect her - but not in such a striking manner! She felt as if she couldn't draw a breath. Her heart boomed in her chest, and then in her throat, slowly and painfully. Her ears rang. Everything but the calm attentive gaze of his blue eyes disappeared.

"My lords," she whispered and curtsied.

"Master Eorwyn," King Thorin said in a low voice.

"Good evening, Eorwyn," King Bard gave her his usual greeting, and she saw King Thorin throw a quick look at the Man.

She invited the men to sit with a wave of her hand and took her chair.

"My lord Thorin was travelling from the South, and we have the honour of having him for a small unofficial visit," King Bard said.

Another sharp look from the Dwarven followed. Eorwyn wondered what affected him so.

"A dinner perhaps?" King Bard offered, and King Thorin gave him one of his slow tilted nods.

Eorwyn realised she's missed his gestures. Despite the chair being uncomfortably tall for him - just as was all furniture in Dale for Eorwyn as well - he sat confidently, his wide body relaxed, one elbow on the arm rest. He was a presence in the room, radiating dignity and some sort of established calm.

"Perhaps we should postpone our conversation," the Man said to Eorwyn. "Since King Thorin is here, I think we could go through what we'd achieved in the last months."

"I've kept King Thorin aware of all our work-" Eorwyn started.

"Of course, but we still have plenty to discuss," King Bard said. "Before dinner. Wait, I'll send someone to my house to have them prepare."

He rose sharply and went to the door. He stuck his head out and called for a servant. While he waited standing in the doorway, Eorwyn looked at the Dwarven King. His face bore no expression. She cowardly hid her eyes.

He hadn't changed, at least she didn't think he had. He wore a doublet she hadn't seen before. It was of lighter fabric, of deep dark burgundy colour, with geometrical silver brocade along the placket.

She cleared her throat, trying to find some topic for small talk, but then she decided against it. What could she talk about? Surely not weather or some other nonsense of the sort. He made no attempt to strike a conversation either.

King Bard returned to the table. He seemed agitated, but Eorwyn knew he had some personal matters that preoccupied him; so she simply ignored his distractedness.

The three of them discussed the contracts and treaties that had been arranged in the past moons. Eorwyn mostly had to deal with the ones that had to do with the trade between Erebor and Dale and Laketown. Twice King Bard had to interrupt their discussion to rise and go to the door to deal with yet another servant coming from his house. Every time silence rang between her and the Dwarven King.

At the end, King Bard wrapped up their conversation and excused himself. He said his hurried goodbyes, promising to see them both in an hour at dinner, and he left.

The door closed behind him. Eorwyn stayed standing. She wasn't sure how to proceed.

"His daughter is ill," she said to King Thorin quietly. "The younger one. She's had scarlatina, and seems to have complications. They're worried that she could lose hearing in one ear."

"Are you close to the family?" the King asked and gave her a quick frowned look.

Eorwyn couldn't understand what he was asking about.

"Not particularly. I've been invited to dinners when emissaries and counsellors were present."

Eorwyn sat down, and the King followed her example.

"I've mostly been working," Eorwyn said just to say something. "The trade and such, you know..." Her voice trailed away uncertainly.

He nodded. He wasn't looking at her now.

"How have you- have you been?" she asked and cleared her throat again. "How are your kin?"

"Everyone is well. Erebor is the same," he answered in a mildly irked tone.

Eorwyn felt like an imbecile. She was still searching her mind for some clever decorous question when he slowly rose and walked up to the window. He half turned to it, so she could see his profile.

"Are you enjoying your stay here?" he asked.

"We have accomplished a lot," she answered.

"Again with the 'we,'" he said with a dark chuckle.

"Pardon?"

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, and then shook his head.

"It's nothing," he grumbled. "So, you have accomplished a lot. I didn't doubt you would. But is the town to your liking? The people?"

Eorwyn fisted her hand under the table.

_Take me back, _she wanted to cry out. _Ask me to return to your Mountain. Tell me I'm still welcome._

"Of course," she said quietly. "King Bard is a gracious host. I've been accepted by most of his officials." Eorwyn gave out a small chuckle. "Some of them still don't trust me, to be honest, and the fact that I'm always concerned with the interests of Erebor doesn't help..."

"Erebor?" the King asked raising one eyebrow. "I've noticed some of the treaties are exceedingly generous towards my merchants, but I assumed it's been simply overlooked by the counsellors of King Bard."

Eorwyn laughed a small laugh.

"I just don't think that the interests of one people have to be observed at the expense of its neighbour. There has to be balance. The fact that the Dwarves possess the riches doesn't mean they have to pay twice as much for the very necessities of life."

He smiled, with the very corners of his lips.

"No indeed, it doesn't." His voice warmed up now. "But I assume your clandestine activities haven't made you their favourite."

Eorwyn shrugged.

"I don't answer to them. Nor to King Bard for that matter," she said. "I'm just doing my job as a negotiator and a weightmaster."

He gave her an attentive glance.

"That's quite a long way from a humble scribe I met all those months ago," he said, and she blushed.

"Well, you see-"

"I'm not arguing," he interjected. "Neither do I disapprove of your confidence, _Master_ Eorwyn. You possess valuable knowledge and skills. It's about time _you_ started valuing them."

"I'm afraid my new 'confidence' has gained me very few friends here," Eorwyn said with another bashful laugh. "Just last week one of King's counsellors called me a 'Dwarf lover.'"

Realisation dawned on her as soon as she pronounced these words, and she gasped.

"Pardon me, that was- so insensitive- I just-"

She realised that he wasn't stopping her squawking and mumbling. Instead, he was watching her with twinkling eyes.

"Oh goodness me," she exhaled, and that was when he burst into laughter.

His guffaws were loud and unrestrained, and his shoulders shook in the laughter. Eorwyn had seen him like that only a few times. Her cheeks burnt painfully now.

"Mahal be merciful," he finally rasped out and wiped tears with the heel of his right hand.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled under her breath, too embarrassed to look at him.

"For what?" he asked, his voice still bubbling with merriment, it seemed. "For supposedly reminding me of my unrequited feelings for you? Or for guarding the interests of my people at the expense of losing the favour of your clients?"

Eorwyn peeked and saw his warm eyes and the soft smile that was playing on his lips.

"Both?" she offered and bit into her bottom lip. He was flustering her.

"Oh cheer up, Master Eorwyn. Seeing me isn't such a solemn affair," he rumbled and sat back in his chair. "We're still friends, are we not?"

"Oh please, tell me we are!" she exclaimed emotionally. "It has been a torture!"

"Was it?" He gave her a cheeky look. "Then why didn't you come back?"

"I didn't know if you wanted me to," she said.

"Oh," he drew out and chuckled. "So you were sparing my poor heart. How considerate."

Eorwyn knew this tone. It was him teasing her. It felt somewhat condescending, and her bashment ebbed.

"I suppose my consideration has been misplaced. I'll make sure to be less empathic next time," she said sardonically.

"Oh, you've grown little claws while being around Men," he said and laughed again. "Good."

Eorwyn looked at him still frowning.

"Oh don't pout," he said. One of his eyebrows jumped up. "You know what it does to me."

Eorwyn's jaw slacked. She definitely didn't pout! And more so, what did he mean by 'does to me?'


	38. Caught

And then the King's face dropped, and his gaze grew serious.

"I apologise," he said. "I was being too free with you. I just forgot..." He paused and cleared his throat.

"That I wasn't her?" Eorwyn offered softly.

His eyebrows jumped up in confusion.

"Who her?"

"Mistress Algun," Eorwyn said, equally perplexed.

"What does she have to do with it?"

Eorwyn blinked several times, trying to find the right words. She didn't want to put her foot in her mouth again.

"Well, you were being— free— I reckon, the banter was your way of… flirting with her, and I'm not her, and—" Eorwyn shied away and bit her bottom lip again.

He listened silently and then sighed.

"I suppose. I was going to say that I seem to have forgotten how to speak to you. I forgot that you— you don't welcome the banter."

"I welcome the banter!" she exclaimed. "And you don't need to apologise. I missed our jokes, and laughing together, and— It's just the topic makes me uncomfortable. I just—" She flailed her hands in the air. "I just don't know how to behave around you!"

"The same way as you always have, please," he said gravely. "And don't bring Mistress Algun into the conversation, please."

"Oh," Eorwyn exhaled. "I just— I just keep thinking that— how is it possible that you— while you were still betrothed to her, and—"

Words just didn't want to form sentences in her mind, and she muttered a bit more and stopped.

"I didn't know you cared about that," he said. His eyes were watching her attentively.

Eorwyn shifted in her chair in unease.

"I just kept thinking about our previous conversation," she said with a sigh. "It has just all gone wrong, just as you said then. If I had had time to think over what Amri had told me, I wouldn't have reacted thusly. But he just said all the worst things, you see." She gave the King a shy smile. "And please, believe me, he didn't mean to. After all he wasn't wrong. You did— You did have feelings for me."

The King made a scoffing noise.

"And the poppycock about keeping you around to make you my mistress?" he jeered. "Was he right about that too?"

"No, no, of course not!" she rushed to say. "You see, I'd never have even mentioned it, if it wasn't just like in my childhood, and I'd just had the row with Amri, and the words echoed in my head."

She stopped because she saw how the King's features hardened.

"Your childhood..." he muttered. "I've… heard of the horrors that take place in the towns of Men."

"Nothing happened," she said quietly. "Not to me, at least. Maiar have been merciful to me. But— It could have. And please, don't take it the wrong way, but wouldn't it make sense? If you… desired me, to make me your mistress? You can't marry me," she said with a shrug.

They both grew silent. Eorwyn aimlessly moved a letter opener on her desk.

"What a conversation we're having," he grumbled and rose again. "I think I'll take King Bard on his offer and get ready for that dinner. He said I can wash off in his house."

Eorwyn rose as well.

"As for Mistress Algun," he said sharply, and Eorwyn's gaze shot up to his face. "I never… cared for her the same way. She would make a great Queen. Our tempers matched. My heart was never involved in my relationship with her."

"I never thought you would be dishonourable!" Eorwyn folded her hands pleadingly. "Please, believe me."

"Well, it surely sounded like you had," he said irkedly.

He turned around and walked to the door.

"See you at dinner, Master Eorwyn."

The door closed behind him, and Eorwyn fell in her chair.

* * *

The dinner was a rather distressing affair, with the King's youngest daughter absent, and everyone clearly worried for her. The conversation was stifled. Two of King Bard's chief counsellors were present. Both, as Eorwyn knew, weren't particularly fond of Dwarves. The only comfort Eorwyn found was in seeing lord Dwalin. They chatted a bit, but he wasn't the most lively conversation companion.

After the meal, everyone rose. The men went to the drawing room to smoke, and Eorwyn excused herself, claiming she was exhausted and wished to repose.

She walked back to the Town Hall, where she resided in an apartment upstairs. The two guards she'd been assigned by King Thorin all those months ago silently followed her.

By the entrance door she looked up and stared at the full moon shining in the sky. Eorwyn had always disliked the ink black sky and the white stars. The vastness and the coldness frightened her. She much preferred never seeing them, just like in Erebor, where she felt secure, tucked away from the world in his Mountain. _His Mountain_, she thought. Perhaps, it hadn't been the mountain that she'd felt shielded by.

* * *

The next day a servant from King Bard's house brought her a note. Apparently King Thorin had requested to be shown around the town, and the responsibility lay on Eorwyn. She assumed King Bard had been preoccupied, and his counsellors might have simply refused.

When she arrived at the King's house the Dwarves were already outside: King Thorin, lord Dwalin, and the three guards they'd been travelling with.

"Morning," the King murmured.

He seemed in a better mood, and Eorwyn greeted him with a smile.

"I see you're following my orders," he said, glancing over her shoulder at her guards.

"I'm grateful for my escort," she said and threw a quick smile to the guards.

They stood exceptionally straight in the presence of their King. On an average day the Dwarves were rather familiar with her. Sometimes she'd even share her meals with them in the Town Hall. She knew of their families. One of them was betrothed, and had not so subtly asked Eorwyn whether she was to return to the Mountain. She had had no answer for him.

"Well, lead the way, Master Eorwyn," the King said and looped his arm.

Eorwyn gingerly stepped to him and pushed her arm through his. His body felt scorching, even through the layers of their clobber. The arm was thick, the muscles under her palm hard.

The town had woken up already, merchants had opened their shops, and the streets were full of people. Eorwyn felt uncomfortable under many gazes that their company attracted. Over the first couple moons she'd become a familiar view for the merchants, a small girl in a dress of the Dwarven cut, with her two guards - but now people were once again staring.

"Are you alright?" the King asked, and Eorwyn realised she'd been clutching his arm.

She weakened the grip.

"Aye, quite. Let me show you the market first. They've built it at the same spot as it was ages ago. You, perhaps, remember it. It will look different of course."

He nodded, and they headed for the market square. On the way, Eorwyn kept pointing at businesses and explaining what she knew. The King listened and nodded.

A rumble of a far away thunder rolled above them, and Eorwyn looked up. The sky was blue and clear, but she could see the dark clouds gathering in the West.

"Do you think it'll rain?" she asked absend-mindedly.

"I expect so," he answered. "The air smells like rain."

"To me the air here always smells like dust and fish," she muttered.

He chuckled. "At least you get to see the sky here."

Eorwyn almost shrugged at his words, but that would be disrespectful. She'd take the cavernous ceilings of Erebor over the sky any day.

They continued walking. He asked about the trade, and she felt somewhat calmer since she was confident in such discussion. Slowly they reached the market. It was already noisy, people of all ages and vocations moved around. Merchants called out to potential customers. Some were bargaining, some tried to attract attention to their goods.

"What is this smell?" the King asked at some point.

"Honeyed nuts. They are a local treat." Eorwyn pointed at a merchant with a cart. "They are roasted in a deep pan, and then honey and beetroot sugar are added, and some spice."

The King headed to the cart, and Eorwyn had no choice but to follow. The merchant - and old man with a pleasant wrinkled face - smiled at them widely.

"My lord?"

"Two, please," the King said and threw the merchant a large coin.

Eorwyn was going to tell him he had overpaid when he picked up a cone of parchment out of the merchant's hands and pushed it under her nose.

Eorwyn looked down at the nuts. They were round, golden brown, and the sugary coat enveloped them like armour, making them look glossy and appetising. The aroma tickled her nose. The King shook the cone lightly, as if luring her with the treats, one of his eyebrows was hiked up mischievously.

Eorwyn carefully picked up a nut with the tips of her fingers and put it in her mouth. The nuts were still warm. Her senses were immediately flooded by the taste and the spiciness. The King popped one in his mouth as well and squinted. A low hum rumbled in his throat. Eorwyn startled and crunched the nut in her mouth. The sound was shockingly loud.

She just couldn't understand why the view of him savouring the treat affected her so much! Her gaze fell on his lips, currently curled up in a small smile.

There was life and delight in everything he did, she realised. Compared to the Men of Dale she'd been dealing with these past months, the King seemed healthier, full of vigour. He as if consisted of warm colours, cosy sounds, and confident movements. He'd brought with him the zeal and the sturdiness, with which Dwarves lived, worked, ate, and created. She had missed that terribly! To her, the town of Men felt damp, and corrupted, and sick. She yearned for the dry balmy air of Erebor, for the Dwarven ways, which she'd realised felt so kindred, for her books and her studies… and her hours in his study.

Eorwyn's throat constricted.

"You don't seem to enjoy it," he said and picked up another nut. "I think it's good."

Eorwyn swallowed without feeling the flavour of the sweets. He offered her the cone and she shook her head. Lord Dwalin's large hand sneaked into the cone and a handful of the sweets travelled into his mouth. The King chuckled and passed the cone to the Dwarf.

"Shall we continue then?" the King asked Eorwyn.

She nodded and started walking ahead. She needed to distract herself from the ridiculous mawkishness. Her job was to show him the town. She would lament his absence when he was gone back to his Mountain. Without her.

They spent another hour walking among the vendors. The King seemed interested in everything: the wines, the fabrics, even the apothecaries. He sampled everything, bought a bit of everything, and overpaid for everything. Eorwyn simply followed him around, stunned and bewildered. All his purchases were loaded in a large basket carried by one of the guards.

They were on their way back to the King's house when the first large drops started drumming on the ground. Each was sizeable and heavy, making a small cloud of dust rise around its wet print. The rain was growing louder and heavier with each second, and then a lightning flashed across the sky. Thunder followed suit, and Eorwyn jumped up.

"Quickly!" The King's hand wrapped around hers firmly, and he rushed ahead, pulling her after.

She could hardly keep up. He seemed to have an excellent memory when it came to the narrow tangled streets of Dale, and just a few instants later they were near the Town Hall. In the short time, Eorwyn's clothes had been drenched, and water quenched in her slippers. The King jerked the door open and pushed her inside in front of him. Other Dwarves followed. Eorwyn's heart banged in her chest, from the run, and from the shock of the giant cold drops having drummed on her head and shoulders.

Water was running down from the ends of the King's hair, and he brushed his large hand to his face.

"What a deluge," lord Dwalin grumbled.

"I'll call Rand, he's the keykeeper," Eorwyn said. "He can start the fire in the front room. And I have three bottles of brandy in my rooms. I'll bring them."

"I'll help you," the King said.

She was heading to the stairs already calling Rand's name loudly. He was an elderly gentleman, pleasant and helpful. When the Town Hall wasn't used for negotiations or audiences with King Bard, he kept an eye on it. He stayed in the downstairs room with his elderly wife and two large dogs.

"Ah, m'lady, I thought I heard your voice," Rand said appearing on the staircase.

"We've been caught in the storm," Eorwyn explained.

The keykeeper noticed the King and bent in a respectful bow.

"Some of our companions are in the front room. Please, call a maid for some towels, and food, and perhaps the fire should be started," Eorwyn said.

The Man nodded and went downstairs.

"Who resides in these apartments?" King Thorin asked Eorwyn while walking behind her up the stairs to the third floor.

"I have rooms here, and visiting merchants are allowed to stay here. They've also given a room for my guards next to mine." Eorwyn reached her hallway and fished the key to her room from her belt sachet. "But I think Men are uncomfortable with the idea of males staying near me, so since I arrived, it's just been myself and the guards."

She unlocked the door and stepped inside. And then she felt him near herself, so close to her back that she felt as if the heat of his body licked her skin, and the door closed behind them with a click.


	39. A Revelation

He stood close, and the smell of some flower oils teased his nose. He realised it came from her hair, now wet, darker streaks of it, with water dripping from the ends of the tresses that were on the sides of her face.

She turned and threw a vacant look at the window.

"It's like the world is behind a wall," she whispered, and he watched her red lips move. "As if there is nothing but this room," she added.

Another rumble of thunder rolled, shaking the building, and Thorin looked at the sheet of rain streaming down the window.

She turned to him then. He felt the movement and met her eyes.

"I have given it so much thought," she said quietly and then suddenly chuckled. "It's as if I thought of nothing else but that. And my service of course, but in my free time? Only about… the conversation we've had."

He gave her a confused look, and then understanding dawned.

"Eorwyn-" he started.

"You see, I just couldn't wrap my mind around it," she continued as if not hearing him. Her unseeing eyes were on the colourful glass of the window. "Why would you... It makes no sense..."

He stepped closer to her because she suddenly started shaking and wrapped her arms around her. He could see she was affected, but he didn't dare touching her to comfort her.

"I thought we'd meet again and everything would go back to how it used to be," she whispered. "But it can't, can it? We… are not the same."

She sharply looked at him.

"No, we are not," he agreed. "You've grown here, and I..."

"Yes?" she asked and peered intently in his face. "How have _you_ been?"

"Lonely," he said and chuckled at her surprised face.

Her eyebrows jumped up, and the lips softly parted - the lips he'd dreamt of kissing for so long.

She was silent, and then she shook her head.

"It makes no sense..."

"Again with it?! Why not?" he asked, irritation rising in him. "Why doesn't it? Like I said then, I'm no youngling to mistaken affection for a simple caper."

"It is not _you_ whom I doubt," she said.

"But it is," he scoffed. "You keep saying it makes no sense. Well, it does to me. Do you not trust my judgement? If I say that I-" he stumbled over his words, and she winced away from him.

Tremors ran through her, and he had half a mind to simply turn and leave the room. She was in anguish, and that was the last thing he ever wanted.

"That you care for me?" she whispered hardly audibly.

"That I love you," he said firmly.

Whatever she'd been fretting about before, it felt easy to say - and simple, and _right._ She stared at him with frantic widened eyes.

"Do you?" she exhaled. "Do you truly?"

"I do," he answered without a doubt.

She turned away from him, and he saw her shoulders rise. Her whole body quivered, and he wished he knew what he could do, what he was allowed, and what would help.

"Eorwyn-"

"Please-" Her voice broke. "Let me- Give me a moment."

She breathed heavily, and he could see her fists clench, her arms straight and tense along her body.

"I just can't..." she started and choked on her words. "I can't accept that… that both could be possible. That you, who has always been my friend, who'd protected me, who'd been like a brother to me… that you would… desire me." He could hear her breath hitch, and then a small pained sigh escaped her. "I've been taught to fear it, the desire of a man. I've been taught it was dangerous, and malicious, and-"

"Do you believe me malicious, Eorwyn?" he asked. Perhaps, he was too loud, but her words were insulting.

She laughed. It was an unexpected silver laugh, and she turned. He saw her eyes shine feverishly.

"You know I do not!" A grimace twisted her lips. "You know that I think the world of you. All I've ever wanted was to reside in your Mountain, among your people… and near you."

"It's not the same," he said pointedly. "You can come back to my Mountain. You can be a part of my people. But being near me…" He shook his head.

"Would you accept me as a friend?" she asked, drawing her brows together. "If I come back and only return to my duties as your bookkeeper, will you take me back?"

"Aye," he said gravely.

"Would it pain you?"

"Aye."

She looked away, pondering something. He waited.

"But what alternative is there?" she asked quietly, as if addressing herself.

"There is none," he answered and gave her a soft look.

She was so beautiful, he thought. The long graceful neck, the squared proud shoulders, the delicate lines of her throat and jaw - everything seemed so charming and so alluring to him. His lust mixed with tenderness. He craved, and he yearned - but he just stood there and waited for her to speak.

"You could always-" she started but stopped abruptly. "No, not like that," she spoke, once again as if to herself. "Not 'you.' _We_ both would make this decision. But again, what is there to decide? Isn't it clear already?"

"Eorwyn, what-"

She turned to him and stepped to him and suddenly her face was right in front of him.

"It has never been like that for me. I… I don't know _what_ I feel," she said and frowned. "I thought one thing, and then I saw you, and- And I _feel_ it. Here, you see." She pressed her palm to her chest. "It… burns."

"What-" He didn't understand.

"But I can't know, can I? How would I know desire if I felt it? I was never told how to recognise it."

"What are you saying?"

She didn't answer, and then suddenly her lips were pressed to his.

All thoughts vacated his mind. Her taste, her sweetness, the intoxicating flavour flooded his senses. His fingers clenched around handfuls of her dress, and he jerked her closer, and claimed her mouth. She gasped into the kiss, but yielded, and arched into him.

Blood roared in his veins. Her body was impossibly close, warm, breathing, moving; desire took him over. Her hands were on his chest, locked between their bodies. He wanted to be tender - but he couldn't. He felt greedy, and grabbed, and pressed her in more and more. She moaned.

And then he took himself under control, and moved away, despite the pain it caused and how disobeying his whole body felt.

"Eorwyn—"

She stood in front of him, taut and rigid, and then her eyes slowly opened.

"I needed to know what I felt. I was never explained… I never knew..."

He didn't understand. He didn't want to either.

"I just wanted to go back!" she suddenly exclaimed. "I wanted to go… home!"

He opened his mouth, but she pressed her fingers across his lips. They trembled.

"No, no, do not misunderstand me! I always say all the wrong things to you. And I wound you-" She leaned and pressed her forehead to his. "I never want to wound you."

He started moving away from her, but her hands lay on the sides of his face, and she locked her eyes with him.

"I craved- Erebor, craved going back, I dreamt… I wanted to ask you, to beg you to take me back… But I know now it's not what I want..." Her voice was a fevered whisper.

"What do you want?"

"You." The word was just a breath, one exhale, through her rounded lips. It fluttered on his.

"It's not the Mountain. It's you..." she said. "It's being near you that I want."

He grabbed her upper arms and crushed his lips into hers. She shimmied the shoulders, and he regained some composure, and let her go, but she apparently just wanted to move her arms, and she threw them around his neck, and it was her who was now demanding a deeper kiss. She burnt, and kissed, and closed her fists around his strands, and pulled.

"Amrâlimê," he muttered, and then kissed her cheeks, and her eyes.

She squinted, and he saw a small hesitant smile tremble on her lips.

"It is so..." She looked at him, and he saw some warm light in her eyes. "So right… So wonderful..."

"Come back with me to the Mountain, amrâlimê," he whispered, and she nodded.

He kissed her again, because suddenly... he could! She answered readily, and he pushed his hands into her still damp hair, and she gasped in his mouth, and shifted, and hid her face, pressing her forehead to his temple.

"It's like I'm drowning..." she murmured. He felt a small kiss placed on his cheek above the beard. "Or as if I drank some spirits..."

He chuckled. He tilted his face, searching for her gaze.

"Eorwyn-"

She laughed suddenly.

"I feel so much better! As if a burden fell off my shoulders!" She grinned gleefully. "Do you feel better?"

She was so close he could count the freckles on her nose. Her fingers moved in his hair, playing with his strands.

"I do."

He snatched another kiss, and he was moving away, but she had none of it. Her delicate strong body pressed to him, and she found his lips. Caresses and kisses followed.

And then she jerked and yelped, "Oh! Brandy!"

"Forget the brandy," he dismissed.

"But lord Dwalin and others, and-"

"They'll be taken care of." He once again decided they had much more important matters to attend and cupped her jaw. "Come, _mamur kharhzunsh._"

He led her to his mouth.

"Mmm, what… what does it mean?"

He was kissing her cheekbone and laughed.

"Just an endearment."

"Something about a chicken," she said and looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"'My little hen,'" he translated. "Your feathers are wet."

She giggled, and he saw soft blush powdering her cheeks.

"Oh, but they will suspect something!" she once again started fretting. "If we don't come down."

"Suspect what? That their King is involved in dalliances with an emissary right under their noses?" he offered sardonically.

"Yes!" She looked sincerely concerned. "If… if we continue, if it's something you want… when we go back to the Mountain, we will have to be careful. We can't be caught!"

And that was when he realised that they understood what was transpiring between them very differently!

"Eorwyn, what is it that you think will happen now?" he asked in a painfully raspy voice.

"Pardon?" she asked.

She sounded distracted. The tips of her fingers were dancing on his beard, and she was studying it mesmerized. He caught her hand and lowered their intertwined fingers.

"I don't want to be careful when we're back in Erebor, Eorwyn. I'm planning to make our courtship known to everyone right away."

Her shocked eyes flew to his face, and he confirmed to himself that he'd guessed right.

"Bu I thought-" she choked on her words.

"You thought I'd make you my mistress," he said darkly. "That's what you've agreed on. You think that's the condition I'll take to allow you back!"

He threw her hand aside and took a step back.

"No!" she as much as shouted and rushed after him.

Her hand flew to his face, and he wanted to turn away - he felt livid - but she had all the power over him. The fingers of her other hand curled around his collar, and she stroked the side of his face with her cool fingers.

"Please, please, don't… Don't twist my words. Don't misjudge me!"

Her eyes were pleading, and he had no will power near her! He lowered his face, into her caress.

"I want it! I'm willing! I know you'd have allowed me back without it, no matter in what capacity, but I-"

"The only capacity I wish to see you in is my wife!" he said firmly. "I love you, and if you love me back-"

He suddenly she'd never spoke of love. She'd only made her desire known.

"Have I misunderstood you, Eorwyn?" he asked.

"No, of course not," she whispered. "Of course I love you. It just took me a while to understand..."

"Then marry me," he said. "Be my wife. Be by my side."

She frowned.

"But, Thorin-"

"I know all you have to say, Eorwyn," he didn't let her continue. "My people, the crown, you being of Men… I know it all, but I also know my heart. And it's yours… and damn everything else."

He embraced her, and she melted into him. He stuck his nose into her soft fragrant hair.

"Say 'Yes,' my heart," he said.

"Yes, Thorin."


	40. An Agreement

"Shall we go downstairs?" the King murmured.

Eorwyn shook her head. She didn't want to move. Just standing in his embrace was all she ever wanted to do now. She wasn't ready to give up the serenity of this moment - especially since she knew that once they started moving, once other people were involved in what had happened, once they had to face reality, the peace she'd had flood her would be shattered.

The King chuckled, and his large scorching hand brushed the back of her head. Eorwyn squinted in pleasure. She was still feeling bewildered: how could she have confused the longing and the affection she was feeling now for being homesick? It had been _him _the whole time.

She wrapped her arms around his neck tighter and sighed.

"They are still waiting for the brandy," the King said in an amused tone.

"Let them wait," she muttered, and he laughed.

"Minutes ago you were ready to abandon me to preserve the propriety, my heart. Look at you now! Dallying with a man in your rooms."

"Minutes ago I thought it was just the two of us," she whispered. "Minutes ago I'd had a revelation and I just wanted to delight in it."

"Oh? Do tell."

He pushed his fingers under her hair, and she shivered. They were still standing in the middle of her chamber, their arms wrapped around each other. Despite how soaked her clothes were she wasn't at all cold.

"Well, I had thought my feelings were nothing but respect, and admiration, and I cared for you as a—"

"Don't say a father," he interjected, and she moved out of his embrace to look into his face.

His eyes were twinkling with laughter.

"You'll make me feel old," he jested.

"I was going to say an older brother. Perhaps a cousin," Eorwyn drew out, keeping her tone pensive.

His face dropped, and she couldn't pretend anymore and snorted.

"Oh you!" He barked a guffaw. "I sometimes forget that you have no reverence towards me, you impudent child."

"I'm no child," she reminded him.

He continued watching her warmly.

"No, you are not."

She felt her cheeks flush from his purring tone.

"But now I see..." She brushed the tips of her fingers to the brocade on his chest. She was bashfully hiding her eyes. "I love Erebor. It is where I felt I belonged for the first time. I just didn't see that not all of the feeling of warmth and safety came from being in the Mountain. It was you..." She looked up and met his eyes. "It was you I missed the most."

"And now you don't have to," he said tenderly. "We will return to the Mountain, and it will be yours. And so will I."

"Oh, Thorin..." she whispered, still feeling awkward to call him by name. "But it's not that simple!"

She could see that he was ready to argue, but she knew by them an efficient way of stopping him. She just had to push away a nasty thought that she'd been doing the same with Amri.

She put her finger across his lips, and he froze.

"Could I ask for some time, please?" she said quietly. "I want to come back, and finish my studies, and find a position. It will only take a few moons. And then we can think of the official courtship."

The King frowned.

"Please?" she asked even quieter, begging him with her eyes.

"You don't need to find a position," he said in a slightly irked tone. "When we marry, you will be the Queen Under the Mountain. There is no position more prestigious - or more demanding, for that matter."

She nodded, but she needed to hold her ground.

"Aye, it's true. But I want to be respected and make something of myself by the time I am to take those responsibilities."

She saw his lips press in a thin line. She expected him to be displeased - but she could also see she had angered him, and she couldn't understand why he would react so harshly.

"We will announce the courtship, but you can finish your studies meanwhile," he said firmly. "This will be a perfect compromise."

Eorwyn exhaled sharply. Somehow his offer didn't seem like a compromise at all - more like him imposing his will on her.

"You asked me to tell you of my revelation," she said softly. She felt shy to speak of her feelings openly but it seemed he just didn't understand. "Yesterday I thought— yesterday I thought a touch from you would scare me. I felt regretful and sad that my return to Erebor would mean heartache for you. Yesterday I didn't know I could love and feel desire."

His features set in harsh cold lines, and she cupped his face with both her hands.

"Today all I want is for you to touch me more," she whispered, her face burning in acute embarrassment. "Today I know what desire feels like. And how sweet it is to belong to you."

He pulled her into a kiss roughly, and no fear came. All she felt was her own passion flare up.

It had never been like that with Amri. Kisses with him had been light, and merry, and all she felt was some sort of tingly excitement. She had enjoyed their caresses but hardly craved them when he hadn't been around. They had had the jolliest of time, chatting and bussing, but she missed none of it now.

In the arms of the King she forgot everything. She couldn't think. She had been right when she said that it was like drowning. It was overwhelming, and her body as if burned in the most blazing of fires. She also felt possessive and greedy, clawing at him, as if she just couldn't get enough and he couldn't be close enough.

"Give me time to get used to it," she whispered, and his lips froze on her neck.

Her head was dropped back, his kisses as if leaving scorching marks on her skin.

She straightened up and smiled at him shyly.

"Please, Thorin, please see how strange it feels to me..."

"When we announce the courtship, nothing will change," he said stubbornly. "You will go about your day. You will attend your studies. And then you will learn of your duties."

Something bothered him in this discussion, she could see. She'd spent enough time with him to know when his mind was afflicted. His look was dark, and she could feel how tense his shoulders were under her hands.

"People will treat me differently," she gave him another argument.

"They will no matter when you sign the Indenture," he answered.

"I'd like it to happen later than sooner," she attempted to resist again.

"You aren't in a rush I see," he said in a venomous tone and stepped back.

"No in a rush?" Her voice was small.

"To marry me. You're keeping me at a distance just like that boy."

"No! It's nothing like with Amri!" She folded her hands in a pleading gesture. "I'm just terrified! You know how hard it will be for me. How much animosity I will meet when you announce that you chose _me_."

"We will face it together," he dismissed.

Eorwyn sighed.

"That is of course if you don't manage to delay it long enough and then flee," he muttered under his breath.

And that's when she understood.

"Thorin, I'm not Mistress Algun! I'm not going to change my mind and renegade!"

An unfamiliar feeling - and she realised it was indignation - made her fist her hands and almost stomp her foot.

He gave her a tense look, his eyes narrowed.

"If I give my word, it will be so," she said. "And I have. Have I not said I will marry you? Did I not speak of love?"

"You're young," he said coldly. "Perhaps, you don't know your heart and your mind. And you just said that _yesterday_ you feared my touch and only wished for an opportunity to come back to my Mountain."

"So you think the right way around it is to tie me to you with a contract?" she exclaimed.

She herself didn't know where the nettle and the determination came from - but she just needed to make it right! Her love for him was too strong and too fair!

He continued to glare at her, and she took a measured breath.

"I give you my word that I will not leave you, unless you ask me to. I will be yours, and I will be with you, as your Queen or in any other role." She saw him once again open his mouth but she didn't let him interrupt her. "But you will have to _trust_ me. Just as I trust you. And you will have to give me time."

She stretched her hand to him and prayed he took it. Seconds passed, and panic started rising in her - and then he stepped ahead and gently pressed her hand between his. He then leaned in and kissed the back of her hand.

"Take all the time you need," he said.

"Thank you," she said.

"I still think it's unwise," he shook his head.

She frowned but then she saw that his dark mood had passed and he was hiding a smile now.

"Why would it be unwise?" she asked.

He pulled at her hand now, and she arched into him. Each next kiss with him felt sweeter and sweeter, and more and more intoxicating. The King muddled her like the strongest of drinks.

"Because we won't be able to stay away from each other, and we will be caught in a compromising position," he rumbled, and she felt his lips close around her earlobe.

A wave of heat ran through her body, and some strange sensation pulled in her stomach.

"Then we will have to hastily make the announcement to cover up our dalliances," she dismissed. "Let's just keep it a secret for a bit."

His teeth teased her lobe, and her knees buckled.

"That might even make it more… exciting," she added, sounding quite breathy.

He chuckled into her throat he was kissing.

"Who knew that my little hen is so naughty?" he murmured, and she gave out a shaky laugh.


	41. Write to Me

That evening Eorwyn was too overwhelmed to face any of the King's warriors. They said their goodbyes, he picked up the brandy bottles and went downstairs. They agreed that she'd finish her matters in Dale as soon as possible and would come to Erebor. They were to write to each other as much as possible.

The King had kept stalling and coming back from the door, for 'one more small kiss,' and she kept eagerly agreeing - because as much as she fought the thought, it seemed that the little bubble of happiness they were in at the moment would burst as soon as he'd step out of her room. It felt like a surreal dream, and Eorwyn dreaded waking up.

The next few days went in the usual affairs: the negotiations with merchants, educating the town folk on the Dwarven measures, the inspections of arriving boats and caravans with King Bard.

No letter came from King Thorin - she still couldn't call him simply by name in her mind - and she hesitated every time she sat to write one herself. She'd never written a single personal letter in her life, and she doubted he expected to receive a dry business-like note from her. And the more days passed, the less she knew what to say - and then it felt presumptuous to write, since he hadn't.

So, days passed in Eorwyn acutely suffering - from doubts and heat and humidity. She hated how the small curls on the sides of her face and her neck stuck to her skin. Her dress was too heavy, and she didn't dare wearing it without a doublet. She felt exhausted at the end of the day, and she slept poorly at night. For the first time in her life, she had people she missed - and her matters in Dale seemed to drag.

A week after the King's visit she was returning to her apartments for a meal when a familiar scribe from the Town Hall caught up with her in the street.

"Master Eorwyn, I have post for you!" He was out of breath.

He rummaged in his bag and pulled out six scrolls of parchment. Eorwyn gasped. She immediately recognised the King's personal stamp on the red wax seals on the letters.

"Why am I only receiving these now?!" she exclaimed.

"They'd been delivered to the King, Master Eorwyn," the lad muttered. "He didn't open his post in a while, with Maiden Tilda being sick and such."

Eorwyn pressed the letters to her chest, turned around, and rushed to the entrance. She as much as ran up the stairs and sat on her bed without changing her shoes or taking off her doublet.

The letters were long, detailed, and, Eorwyn couldn't find a more precise attribute, tender. The King spoke of his everyday affairs, inquired about her deeds, and wrote again and again of how much he longed to see her again. His words were hardly maudlin but full of warm sentiment. Eorwyn read three letters, and then she flopped back on her bed and closed her eyes. Suddenly her association with the King stopped being a heady dream and became quite real. And again, the same feeling of realisation of what this man was and what he meant to her flooded her. Eorwyn loved him! And he loved her back!

Eorwyn jumped to her feet and stuffed the letters into her bag. She was already at the door, fully prepared to as much as run to Erebor - when she remembered that she hadn't finished reading his letters! What if in the later ones he started doubting their relationship, or was displeased by the lack of an answer from her, and simply changed his mind?

Eorwyn slid down, her back pressed to the door, and pulled the rest of the parchments out of her sack. She broke the seals and read the letters.

He hadn't. Neither had he started doubting her, nor his feelings. In the last one he expressed his concern wondering whether she wasn't getting his letters or was too preoccupied to answer him, which he wrote meant she 'was overworking herself, which worried him to no end.' He also 'threatened' to send a search party for her again, but even in writing Eorwyn could see he was jesting.

She locked the door behind her and ran downstairs. Her guards were eating their midday meal in the common room.

"Master Rand!" Eorwyn called out to the housekeeper. "I would like to go to Erebor for a short visit." She turned to her guards who were standing by the table now, their eyes intent on her. "Please, finish your food without hurry. I'll wait."

One of the Dwarves hastily wiped his beard.

"We're done, m'lady."

Eorwyn laughed. "No, you are not. I promise it's no rush. I haven't eaten anything myself yet. We will go in half an hour."

"You don't have to walk, m'lady," Rand said. "I can find a cart for you. There are always merchants going that way."

Eorwyn thanked him and went back to her room - slowly and in a much better mood.

* * *

It was when the cart she was riding entered the Erebor gates that Eorwyn suddenly realised how careless and impulsive her behaviour had been.

Her guards said their rushed goodbyes to her, clearly eager to see their families, and suddenly Eorwyn stood in the middle of Erebor's entrance court, with Dwarves and visiting merchants from Men and Elves hustling around.

Once again she felt she didn't belong.

When she'd lived in the Mountain she'd had a routine, and the days and nights for her had been a flow, her life beating with the rhythm of the Mountain. And now she stood looking around, feeling more and more out of place with each passing second. She almost hoped to see a familiar face, but then a conversation might start, and Eorwyn had a goal in mind when she'd started on this trip.

On the other hand, reaching this goal seemed now as a rather complicated task.

She took a deep breath and walked to the back of the yard, to the gates leading into the Mountain, inaccessible for visitors.

The guards at the door looked at her through the slits in their helmets. Eorwyn swallowed and opened her mouth. And then one of them stretched and unlocked a side door for her. The second one looked at him, as it seemed to Eorwyn, in surprise. She assumed the first guard would have to explain who she was himself and walked through the open door.

It took her a few seconds to remember where to go. She walked and walked, and her heart beat painfully in her chest, and her breathing felt laboured.

She was stopped only once, already in the Inner Halls, but as soon as she turned her face to the guard she recognised Eorwyn and the latter was allowed in.

And here she was in front of his door. She lifted her fist to knock and had to lower it again, because suddenly it was so hard to breathe that she turned her back to the wall and leaned against it.

And then a cowardly thought came that perhaps he wasn't even in his study, and she turned and knocked hastily.

When his voice came allowing her in, her whole body quaked. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Eorwyn!" he exclaimed and stood up sharply behind his desk.

She smiled a trembling smile, but found no voice.

"Amrâlimê, what happened?" he asked and in a second he was near her and his hands lay on her upper arms. "Why are you here?"

"I got your letters," she blurted out.

A panicked thought flashed through her mind that he indeed questioned _why_ she'd be there. Perhaps, he also thought it had been a horrible idea, and she was behaving most indecorously!

"I got them all today! They've been delayed! And I— I—" She gasped air greedily. "And I needed to tell you that I didn't know you'd sent them, otherwise I'd have answered each one! And that I hadn't disappeared, or abandoned you, or changed my mind! And then I thought it would take a while for my letter to come to you, and what if they lost it?! And—"

The King burst into loud gleeful guffaws, and embraced her, and pressed her firmly. Eorwyn mumbled some more, and then stilled, and melted into him. The heat of his body, the firm muscles she felt through his doublet, his presence, his smell - she felt enveloped in him, safe, and warm… and _home._

"I'm not an enamoured youngling, my little hen," he said with a laugh, still holding her close. "I don't need constant reassurance. You asked for my trust, and you have it."

"Oh," Eorwyn exhaled. "I'm sorry, that was so silly of me—" Painful embarrassment made her press her head into her shoulders.

"Don't be! I'm happy to see you," he said with a smile. "Come, tell me how you've been."

He pulled her by her hand and led her to a low bench. Eorwyn sat down, still feeling stiff and awkward.

"So, how have you been? Oh wait, before you tell me—"

He leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to her lips.

"Oh, my hen," he laughed again. "Even your charming ears are burning."

"I feel so very silly," she whispered. "I should've just written to you. Instead I barged into your study! But your letters were so lovely, and I've never written a letter before, and—"

"You've never written a letter before?" His eyebrows jumped up.

"No." She shrugged. "Whom would I have to write? I never had a family, and all my friends are here in Erebor, and I don't even know if it's customary to write in such case..."

The King held her hand on his palm, and his thumb brushed across her knuckles.

"You'll have to learn, my heart," he said jesting lightly. "When we're wed and I'm away, you'll be obliged to write to me every day. I'll want to know everything, how you are faring, how the children are, and—"

"Oh, but— Children?! Oh!" Eorwyn squeaked.

The King tilted his head and gave her an amused look. Eorwyn gathered her bearings and exhaled through rounded lips. Of course, he was doing it again: flustering and teasing her! She had to reciprocate, she thought. The man had to be challenged at least once in a century!

"Perhaps you should just never leave me," she said offhandedly. "Or settle on receiving dry short notes that will sound like pages from a bookkeeper's ledger."

The King chuckled and shook his head.

"Minx," he murmured and leaned to her lips again. "I think I'll take the option of never leaving you for long," he added before kissing her.

A quarter hour later Eorwyn pressed her hand into his shoulders and firmly pushed him away.

"Well, that's enough of this!" she feigned a strict tone. "I've only told you of a small part of my news, and you keep distracting me! I need to return to Dale!"

"Please, stay," the King murmured and stuck his nose into her neck. Eorwyn emitted a choked sound. "Stay, my little hen. I promise to distract you less."

"You're lying," Eorwyn muttered. It was impossible to be firm with him! "You're— You're abusing your power over me."

His lips slid up, to her ear, and she as much as purred and craned her neck.

"It's nice to know I have it," he whispered and his breath tickled her helix. "I'd hate to be at the disadvantage of being the only one burning here."

"No! Stop!" Eorwyn squeaked and pressed a finger across his quickly approaching puckered lips. "You're impossible!"

He chuckled and kissed the tip of her finger.

"Do you even have to go back to the cursed fishermen?" he asked with a smirk. "They don't appreciate you the way I do."

His hands slid from her waist onto her back, they splayed covering her shoulder blades now. Eorwyn tried to remember at what point had her doublet been unbuttoned. The cut of her dress was stern and modest, but even the bottom of her neck, the only part sticking above the collar, turned out to be the most sensitive. A small kiss on it turned her body into the semblance of an overcooked fish fillet.

"Oh Maiar give me strength..." she muttered - and then pushed him away. "No! I have to leave! I have— matters to— do— the things— important things!"

"_Mamur kharhzunsh,_" he drew out pointedly.

"Alright, matters to _finish,_" she amended. "But they are important nonetheless. I'll wrap them up and I'll come back to Erebor. You'll just have to be patient."

"Never been my strength," he murmured and kissed her ear.

"Well, then we both have some growing to do," she said and twisted her neck and caught his mouth.

He wasn't the only one who needed to 'store' some pleasurable memories for the separation time, after all.


	42. News and Parcels

Eorwyn was standing in the fletcher's shop waiting for Master Fadir to come from the back with her order when someone called her name from behind. Master Hamar stood in the entrance of the shop with a woman of around his age. Considering that the woman had her arm looped through his, Eorwyn assumed it was his wife.

"Master Eorwyn," the Man greeted her tensely.

"My lord," she answered and looked at the woman.

"Kelda, my wife," he introduced, and the women exchanged nods.

"As I told you, my dear, Master Eorwyn never walks unaccompanied," the Man said venomously, pointing at Eorwyn's guards with his eyes.

Eorwyn could feel the Dwarves shift, their armour making a quiet noise.

"Could you give me a jiffy alone with Master Eorwyn, dear?" the Man said and patted his wife's hand.

She walked away from him. Eorwyn squared her shoulders and jerked her chin up in anticipation of the Man's usual unpleasant remarks and questions.

"Master Eorwyn, I was wondering if I could ask you for a favour?" the Man said stepping closer to her. "It has to do with the upcoming change of your status."

Eorwyn froze, but then she remembered that him knowing about her association with the King of Dwarves was something out of the realm of the impossible.

"Pardon me, Master Hamar, what do you speak of?"

"Do not play coy with me, Master Eorwyn." The Man gave out a fake laugh that was meant to sound amicable and shook his finger at her. "Do not take me for a short-sighted fool. I knew from the start what position you were to take in this town."

"And what position would that be?" Eorwyn asked.

"The Trade Chief, of course. Well, only when it comes to the trade with the Dwarves, but nonetheless..." The Man shrugged. "We all knew, of course. And once Master Storr was appointed the Southern Trade Chief, and since you haven't been called back into the Mountain..." He trailed away, and then cleared his throat. "So, the favour I was talking about… I have a nephew you see. And the boy shows promise! He's served in the South for a few years, and-"

"Master Hamar, pardon my interruption, but I'm sure you're mistaken. My job here is one of a weightmaster."

"For start, of course," the Man said, "But even before your coming here that was what your King had discussed with King Bard. And considering how King Thorin _favours_ you..." The Man gave her a salacious wink. "I doubt anyone would argue. I have heard from a reliable source that you will be offered the post in the next few days."

Eorwyn stood silent, her mind quickly working through the new knowledge. It made sense, really. Long ago, in Erebor they had had a ridiculous conversation with King Thorin where she'd blathered that in her 'humble' opinion having a separate counsellor responsible for the trade between the two Kingdoms would significantly improve the relationship between them. She still thought so - she just didn't think that the Dwarven King had taken her seriously. More so, she could never have assumed _she_ was the one he could have in mind for this position.

Sharp nausea rose in her stomach, and then bitter flavour filled her throat and mouth.

"Pardon me, Master Hamar, I- I suddenly remembered a- an errand," she mumbled and started pushing by the Man to leave the shop.

His face twisted in a derisive grimace. He probably thought she was dismissing him in the rudest of ways. She was already by the door, when a sudden thought came: just a fortnight ago she'd agreed to _marry _King Thorin. That meant _responsibilities_ and _duties_ and _politics_. And _diplomacy_.

It simply meant that no matter how scared, small, and insignificant she felt, she had no right to run, and hide, and fall apart. Eorwyn stopped, clenched her fists, and made herself take a breath. She then turned around slowly and gave the Man a pleasant smile.

"Pardon me, Master Hamar, I do indeed need to address that matter immediately, but perhaps you could stop by my study tomorrow, in the first half of the day? I'll gladly discuss your nephew's prospects."

Master Hamar beamed.

"Much obliged, Master Eorwyn. He's my wife's nephew, you see." The Man threw a cowardly look towards the woman who was studying the fletchings displayed on the wall, her lips pressed in an unpleasant thin line. "He's a good lad, I swear. And if I don't take care of him, I'll see no peace in my house."

"We will find him a position, don't worry," Eorwyn said with the same polite smile, gave him a nod, and marched out of the shop.

She then walked quickly into the dark alley behind the shop and leaned her back against the wall, the shade hiding her from the crowd walking the street. Her guards showed up, one of them carrying her arrows.

"My lady?" one of them asked concerned, and she shook her head and smiled at him weakly.

"I just felt faint, I'm recovering now. That shop was so… stuffy."

"I'd say the _company_ was suffocating," the other guard muttered, and Eorwyn chuckled.

"You don't say," she said and straightened up.

She took her purchase out of the guard's hands and thanked him.

* * *

When Eorwyn returned to her apartments that evening, there was a parcel expecting her. It was of a rectangular shape, wrapped in expensive parchment, and tied with a silken red ribbon. There was a small note attached to it, and of course Eorwyn recognised the seal. It said:

_Little grains for my little hen to play with._

_T._

and Eorwyn burst into silly giggles. Who knew that the severe intimidating Lord of Carven Stone could be so playful?

She hastily pulled at the ribbon and opened the parchment. A gasp fell from her lips. In front of her lay the most exquisite Dwarven abacus Eorwyn had ever seen. The frame was of dark wood, polished and varnished. The beads were of two colours: black and white. The white ones had tiny pink inclusions, making them look like raspberry scones. Eorwyn slowly stretched her hand and brushed the tips of her fingers to the cool stones. "The Merchant's Stone" it was called, she remembered, it was said to bring prosperity and luck in trade. Eorwyn was hardly superstitious, but she liked the thought.

She picked up the heavy frame and delighted in its perfect size. It was smaller than most of the abaci she'd seen in Erebor. It couldn't be bespoke, though. It looked old. She flipped it and saw a few runes engraved inside one of the short sides. In her time in Erebor she'd learnt only little of Khuzdul, only what her friends had time to teach her, and it was all spoken speech, none of the runes. She made a mental note to find herself a tutor of Khuzdul as soon as possible.

And now she needed to send an adequate response to the gift! Eorwyn sighed. She took out a parchment, dunked her quill into her ink bottle, and froze staring at the white of the paper. She hadn't been feigning her ignorance: she indeed didn't have the skill of writing letters. And what kind of a thank-you note could sufficiently express how much she adored his gift? Eorwyn shook her head and sighed again. No words came. If only she were closer to him! She could just once again barge into his study and…

Her cheeks flamed up at the memories of the embraces and kisses they'd exchanged last time she was in Erebor. She knew of course that what they'd been doing wasn't that inappropriate. No skin had been exposed, and although he'd touched her body, those were only her waist, and back, and - she had to admit - her bosom that he'd caressed. No garments had been taken off. They'd unbuttoned her doublet, and it had been done together and with her consent. His fingers had laid on the top button, and she'd arched and moaned pushing her body into his hand. She herself had touched his neck and his beard, which somehow felt much more sensual, and her hands had traveled into his hair. The memory of her fingers bumping into a thick braid hidden in the dark and silver mane had made something sweetly pull in her stomach.

Eorwyn groaned and dropped her head on the table. It was almost comical to her now that just yesterday she'd thought that being his wife would be easy, and it was the part of being the Queen that had intimidated her most in her decision to accept his proposal. Somehow she'd managed to navigate the conversation with Master Hamar and the news of becoming a Trade Chief - while currently she was up a stump over how to thank her beloved for a lovely gift.

Eorwyn spent the next quarter hour at her desk, scribbling, crossing out, scrunching parchments into balls, and throwing them angrily behind her. The one parchment that didn't join its brothers was a small piece with a rather decent drawing of a chicken. While being a pupil in Erebor Eorwyn had discovered that she enjoyed drawing, and according to several of her peers was quite good at it.

At the end Eorwyn decided to sleep on it. She pinned the chicken over her desk, picked up the rubbish from the floor, and fell into her bed.


	43. Three Conversations With Men

**Dear UnaLouise, trust me, I haven't forgotten about Algun either. She will reappear in the story when it's time to make Eorwyn and Thorin's betrothal official. Or before it when a certain event takes place (no spoilers ;)) I have quite an ordeal planned for each of the three of them. Otherwise, it wouldn't be quite a kkolmakov story, would it? Haha.**

* * *

Master Hamar's nephew named Iwar, son of Farman was a tall strong-bodied man, probably two dozen years old or so. He looked like most Men of Dale, with his dark wavy hair and lively eyes the colour of strong coffee.

He entered Eorwyn's study, and she rose from her seat. He bowed and chuckled.

"I'm not used to a maiden getting up to greet me," he said.

His light amicable jest reminded Eorwyn of Amri, and she smiled at the Man.

"I'm sure a lot in working with me would be unfamiliar," she answered cheekily.

He grinned, showing almost all his white even teeth. His brows were thick and black, and charming crinkles ran on the corners of his eyes.

"I'm looking forward to it."

When he joked, the left corner of his lips curled up.

Eorwyn invited him to take a chair across from her, sat down, and opened the parchment with his credentials. A few of the names on them were familiar to her: she remembered the merchants in Bree and other settlements in Eriador from the time when her Uncle had traded with them.

"Your Uncle was hoping I could find you a position involved in the trade with Erebor," she said, still reading.

"I think he was hoping to push me onto you before the position of the Trade Chief is offered to you," the Man said chuckling, and Eorwyn looked up from the papers. "Tomorrow at dinner in the King's house," he added in a nonchalant voice.

Eorwyn shook her head in amusement.

"Are there any other prospects you know about that I don't?" she asked. Somehow it was so easy to banter with him.

"I think my Mother hopes I'd marry well in Dale as well," he said.

Eorwyn met his eyes. She suddenly felt desperately mentally unequipped for the situation she was in: if she assumed he was talking about her, that would make her presumptuous and vain. On the other hand, why would he mention it otherwise?

She thought back at the negotiations she'd seen her Uncle and King Thorin lead, of the tricks and maneuvers they implemented, and reminded herself that less was always better. She raised one eyebrow and muttered, making sure he could hear, "I wish her all the luck with that."

The loud gleeful laughter he gave out rolled in the room. Eorwyn went back to her reading.

* * *

Just as Iwar had mentioned, she was invited to King Bard's house the next day, and after the meal he asked her to join him in his study. He did so rarely; Eorwyn assumed that it was being alone with an unattached female that made him uncomfortable.

She sat in the armchair near the fireplace, and he took the one across from her. She as usual refused his offer of some spirit. The King took a large gulp from his glass.

"So, Master Eorwyn, you seem… to have settled in Dale," he said, and then paused. He was visibly uneasy.

"Yes?" Eorwyn asked, amusement flooding her.

"And your knowledge is clearly benefiting the Kingdom," the King tried again and stumbled.

Eorwyn felt acutely sorry for him all of a sudden: he looked tired and emotionally afflicted. With the responsibility of ruling a Kingdom, one large town of which was under renovations, and an ill child, he seemed to have aged a decade compared to the man she'd seen right after the war.

"I will accept the position of the Northern Trade Chief with gratitude, my lord," Eorwyn said softly.

His shocked gaze flew up to her face, and then his features relaxed.

"I do not think myself worthy," she decided to clarify. "But I do admit I possess a unique set of skills. I do know the trade from both sides. On the other hand, my current circumstances… might change very soon," she said. "And I've given it a lot of thought, and I think the best course here would be for me to establish an office with two or three reliable people in Dale, and when I return to the Mountain-"

"You're returning to the Mountain?" he interrupted her.

"I am," Eorwyn said firmly. "And by then you will need a replacement for me, someone to be the liaison from your side, while I'll supervise the trade from the Dwarven side."

The King sat quietly watching the flames.

"It seems reasonable," he said. Eorwyn thought she could hear relief in his voice. After all, there was now one less matter for him to attend and solve. "Hamar keeps insisting his nephew will be perfect as your... right hand"

"He is probably right," Eorwyn said. "I've met Master Iwar. He's knowledgeable and quick. I showed him the paperwork, and we visited a couple merchants. He has experience with the Dwarven trade from the time he was in the South, and he seems to have a good rapport with the Khazad."

The King nodded again. Eorwyn decided it was an opportune moment to speak of the other matter she wanted to bring to his attention.

"My lord, I have received a letter from King Thorin this morning," Eorwyn started. "There are two things I wanted to talk about with you. Firstly, he requests my presence for the next week. There is a Dwarven festivity he invited me to attend. I am asking for your agreement. You are, after all, my employer," she said.

The Man chuckled.

"Nominally," he said, and they laughed together. "You're quite an independent being, aren't you, _Master_ Eorwyn?"

"It does seem so," she answered. "I don't know how it came to it, my lord, but somehow I was fortunate enough."

"I think it is because you see freedom and independence as fortune is why you have managed to achieve it," King Bard pointed out.

Eorwyn gave it a thought. She'd never looked at it this way - but his words made sense.

"I have two daughters, my lady," he said with a sigh, "Of two very different temperaments. I foresee quite many struggles ahead of the more willful one."

"That brings me to the second affair, my lord," Eorwyn said. "In his letter King Thorin suggests I offer you the help of the Dwarven healers, to consult on your daughter's health. He wasn't sure whether you'd accept Dwarven medicine, but he wanted me to-"

"I'll take it," the Man answered quickly. "Our infirmary is poorly equipped, and the healers are either overworked, or incompetent."

Eorwyn nodded. When she'd arrived to Dale this time, she'd gone to the infirmary to inquire after the healer who'd kept her captive all those months ago. It turned out that the woman had disappeared right after Eorwyn's escape. Eorwyn felt melancholy every time she thought of the poor soul.

"I'll write to King Thorin right away," she said.

"Thank you," the Man said and stretched his palm to her.

She put her hand in his, and he squeezed it emotionally.

"I am so very grateful to you," he said, looking into her eyes, and she gave him a warm smile.

"I'm not the one bringing you a healer," she said laughing lightly. "I just hope they can offer aid."

"You have just assisted me on two matters that trouble me most these days," he said. "One official, and one personal."

Eorwyn laughed again. She didn't feel she deserved his praise. After all, her position and her successes still seemed to her a result of a lucky streak in her life, which started when she had met King Thorin in the Goblin caves. Very little, she thought, was her own doing.

* * *

The Dwarven healer arrived two days later - and with her, King Thorin. While Mistress Frotha examined the child, King Bard present in her chamber, Eorwyn suddenly found herself alone with King Thorin in the drawing room of the King's House.

As soon as the door closed behind the Dwarven dame and the King of Men, King Thorin crossed the distance between him and Eorwyn in three large strides. She dashed towards him at the same time. Their arms wrapped around each other, and his lips crashed into hers. His fists clenched around her doublet on her back, and he pressed her into him so hard something quietly squeaked in her. She didn't mind. She pushed her hands into his hair and moaned. Her body burnt and trembled. She had never experienced so much yearning - but she was starting to recognise the carnal desire in herself now.

A few seconds later he tore his lips off her mouth and peppered small kisses on her face.

"How's my little hen these days?" he murmured.

"Busy," she answered and giggled. "I have advanced in my vocation."

"I've heard," he said with a chortle and kissed the tip of her nose. "I've received a poorly written parchment announcing the new Trade Chief. Your King needs a better scribe."

"He had a good scribe," Eorwyn said with a laugh. "And then you stole her, educated her, and now she's grown hoity-toity." She then pressed her lips to his cheekbone, enjoying the warm skin. "Also, _he_'s not my King. I'm a mountain dweller," she whispered into his ear.

He whipped his head and caught her mouth in a greedy kiss. Eorwyn melted into his caresses, all her skin tingly. Touching him made her feel both weak - her knees buckled, and all her body felt languished, as if liquid - and strong. She felt alive, and powerful, and some sort of current ran her nerves and her veins. The life force she felt in him, his health, his vigour - in the glossy heavy hair, in his brilliant eyes, in his scorching even skin - seemed to seep into her and made her feel able, and tenacious, and… whole.


	44. Back Home

Eorwyn returned to Erebor at the end of the week preceding the Zann Galikh, 'The Good Night,' a ten day long festivity celebrating the beginning of the Injamadrân Barzur, 'The Golden Autumn,' the warm plentiful months that followed the Summer.

Unlike her previous visit to Erebor, this time Eorwyn was neither in a rush, nor uneasy. She said cordial goodbyes to her guards, wishing them wonderful time with their families, and she walked through the gates into the Inner Halls. She'd sent a letter to her former chamber companions, and received the answer that her bed was still available to her. Eorwyn walked the passages of Erebor, looking around with pleasure, her sack behind her back.

On the way she stopped in one of the smaller markets. She knew that it was customary to wear a new accessory if not a new attire to the Zann Galikh. She by now owed three dresses, one of which was of a more formal sort, and she could once again rent jewellery to go with it. She considered purchasing a new shawl to add to her green dress. She chatted with the merchant, but as beautiful as his goods were, nothing seemed to have caught Eorwyn's eye. She smiled politely and left. She wandered from one vendor to another, but nothing came to her mind. She needed to buy a new pair of shoes, but now she didn't know if she had enough silver if she bought a new dress. By now she'd managed to save quite a large sum - at least in her humble understanding - but she still felt uncomfortable to part even with the smallest coin unless she completely couldn't avoid it.

She was standing in front of a shop that sold beads, belts, and some other accessories when a sudden realisation dawned on her: she was currently in an utterly convoluted situation when it came to Mistress Algun! The Dwarven maiden had been so kind to Eorwyn! And when Eorwyn had been leaving for Dale, Mistress Algun once again had provided her with an attire - the dark blue dress and the doublet that went over it - for a significantly reduced pay. The attire had become something of Eorwyn's trademark; it was of an almost masculine form, stern and unadorned, but on the other hand, the cut was flattering and elegant. During the last fitting, Mistress Algun had as much as commanded Eorwyn to come back for a new dress if Eorwyn were to attend any festivities. Apparently the needlemaster had a design in her mind that would 'bring glory to them both.'

Meanwhile, at the moment Eorwyn was having an illicit affair with the man whom Mistress Algun had been betrothed to!

What was Eorwyn to do now? Ordering another dress, coming for fittings, chatting with the needlemaster without saying anything... would be deceitful. At the same time, Eorwyn was under no obligation to share her personal news with the needlemaster.

Having lost any desire to shop, Eorwyn turned around and walked towards the Apprentice Halls. When she arrived at the chambers where she'd resided before she had been sent to Dale, the day was close to its end. Eorwyn knocked, and Ada jerked the door open.

"It's Eorwyn!" she shouted gleefully, grabbed Eorwyn's sleeve, and pulled her in. "Welcome back!"

A tight embrace followed, and Eorwyn gave out a surprised laugh.

"Evening, Eorwyn," Nis greeted her from behind Ada. "Come in!"

Eorwyn walked into the room and looked around. Everything seemed to be at the same place: the table they used to dine at, the three chairs, the desk that fit two people and which they had taken turns studying at. Nis' books and Ada's shoes were once again scattered all over the parlour. It even smelled the same: like Ada's pipeweed, and Nis' favourite aromatic oils, and food, and candle wax.

"Come, come, tell us everything," Nis said. "We left you some food. We knew you'd be starving. What do Men know about cooking - and feeding you for that matter!"

Eorwyn laughed again.

"It's so good to… see you both again!" she said.

Ada was already pulling the sack out of her hands, and Nis was lighting another candle.

"Your favourite mutton pie!" Ada announced and pointed at the table with a wide gesture of her hand. "And we have apples, and-"

"Let her breathe, you clot!" Nis grumbled coming out of the back room with a jug of water and a basin. "Here, wash off the dust."

"Oh, I have your favourite soap!" Ada exclaimed and rushed to her chamber.

Eorwyn stared after the Dwarf in bewilderment. They had lived together peacefully, her and the two girls, but she didn't expect such a cordial greeting, especially from Ada, who tended to be abrupt and haughty.

"She missed you terribly," Nis whispered with a smile. "And so have I. You are staying for long now, right?"

Eorwyn shook her head.

"I only came for the Zann Galikh," she said. "I have a position in Dale, in trade."

"For ever?" Nis asked.

Eorwyn's answer was interrupted by Ada showing up with a large piece of soap, wrapped in wax paper.

"Your favourite, lilacs," she said proudly and pushed it into Eorwyn's hands.

"You bought it for me?!" she asked in shock. "It's untouched."

"We hoped you'd come back soon," Ada said and suddenly pulled Eorwyn into another tight hug.

"She heard some horrible tales about the world of Men the other day," Nis said and chuckled. "Some merchant who's after her dowery had been boasting about the terrors he'd survived while trading with Men in the South, and she took his yarn too seriously."

"Shut your gob," Ada grumbled without breaking the embrace. "They will fry our little bird and torture her and make her marry some _lulkh_."

Eorwyn gingerly patted Ada's back. She simply didn't know how to react to such open expression of someone's concern for her.

"She has a position in trade, and King Thorin sent two guards with her there. I'm sure she was doing better than most there," Nis said.

"I was, I swear," Eorwyn said.

Ada straightened and to her shock Eorwyn saw the Dwarven maiden wipe tears off her eyes.

"It's just Lofi told me how they treat women, especially unmarried ones. And how they have no respect for a woman's will when it comes to _abkân_!"

"What is _abkân_?" Eorwyn asked, although she had a suspicion.

"Wash your hands," Nis said and started serving the table. "It's not a light topic to discuss on the go. Just let this dimwit know that you haven't been harassed, and enjoy your food."

"I've been well and safe," Eorwyn dutifully told Ada, and both Dwarves laughed, although Ada's laugh was still shaky.

* * *

Eorwyn was finishing her dinner, having told the Dwarves her latest news. The maidens appropriately gasped and praised and shook their heads.

"So..." Ada drew out, while Eorwyn was finishing her tea. "Iwar, huh?"

Eorwyn stopped blowing on her mug.

"What about Iwar?" she asked in confusion.

"He sounds... nice," Ada said pointedly.

Nis shoved her shoulder. "Leave her alone. Not everyone is only concerned with marriage and men in general."

Eorwyn hid behind her mug.

"Well, she's unattached now! And Amri-" Ada stopped herself.

"What about Amri?" Eorwyn asked. The maidens exchanged uneasy looks, and Eorwyn rushed to reassure them, "If he found someone for himself, you can tell me. I'll be joyful. I only wish happiness to him."

"No, he hasn't found anyone!" Ada huffed. "He's still moping for you, and rumours are-"

"Would you stop upsetting her?!" Nis hissed and pointed at Eorwyn. "Look at her! She's now distraught that he's 'moping,' you clot!"

"That's not the point! Who cares that he's moping? He's upset _her_ enough times." Ada pressed her lips in her usual disdainful manner. "What matters is that he hinted that there is another man." Ada peered into Eorwyn's face intently. "A Dwarf, he said. And since you both told us that it's possible when you've entered your association..."

Eorwyn shifted on her chair.

"We aren't sticking our noses in your business," Nis said softly. "We aren't, right, Ada?" She gave Ada a glare. "But then this one here ran home and was crying and telling me how it's possible that you're being mistreated there, and that you should know how it could ruin your azlâf."

"What are these words?" Eorwyn asked. "_Azlâf _and_ abkân?_"

"When you're officially betrothed to a man, it's _azlâf. _It means 'sleep.' You're promised to each other, and you get to know each other. You can still change your mind, both of you. And then you enter _abkân, _'awakening.' That's when you become husband and wife."

"How?" Eorwyn asked, but she once again had a suspicion.

The maidens looked at each other.

"You see, Mothers or Grandmothers explain it all to us, when we become of age. It's no secret among the Dwarven women, but we don't know how it is for Men," Nis said. She picked up a spoon from the table and twirled it in her hands. "To enter _abkân _formally, there is a ceremony, and a contract, and an exchange of gold and names, and then the man and the woman… connect."

Eorwyn looked between them - and burst into a series of small giggles.

"You two look so uncomfortable!" she sniggered. "You don't shock me! I know about the physical union. It's not talked about openly like the Dwarves apparently do, but it's known."

"Well, you see, for _abkân_ just being physically connected is enough," Nis said. "For Dwarves, that is. It's not done outside _abkân._"

"It's not supposed to be done outside of marriage for Men too," Eorwyn said with a sigh. "But women do have less freedom and less rights in the world of Men. No vocations, no right to make decisions about their fate… or their bodies. I was fortunate enough to reside here, but most of the women of Men have much more disheartening fates."

"No wonder you didn't want to leave," Nis said shaking her head.

"Don't!" Ada exclaimed. "Don't go back there at all! And don't even speak to that Iwar! He's probably one of them, the deplorable Men! He'll force you into something you don't want!"

Eorwyn giggled. "Poor Iwar! First you almost married him to me, and now he's being thrown aside."

"Don't laugh at me, little bird!" Ada pouted.

"You have an utterly empty head, Ada," Nis said firmly. "Don't you remember what Amri spoke of? If our little bird is at all interested in a man, it's a Dwarf she's hiding."

"Right!" Ada clapped her hands and squinted looking at Eorwyn. "Are you hiding an affair with a Dwarf?"


	45. Beards and Thighs and Other Joys

"There is a man," Eorwyn said quietly. "And aye, he is… a Dwarf."

"Oh!" Ada yelped and clapped her hands again, this time in delight. "It's so wonderful!"

Nis smiled widely. Eorwyn's cheeks started to burn.

"Is he of high stature?" Ada asked greedily, and Eorwyn regretted that she was done with her tea and had nothing to hide her face behind.

"Leave her alone, Ada," Nis grumbled and then turned to Eorwyn, "But she's right, out of us three you have the best choice, little bird. With your position in the Court of the Exchequer and in the town of Men, men will swarm around you. That is of course if you want to marry for status."

The Dwarven maiden gave Eorwyn a cheeky glance and added, "But something tells me, and I think it might be your shiny eyes and flaming cheeks, it has nothing to do with gold and titles."

Eorwyn laughed weakly and shook her head. "No, it mostly has to do with his… warmth."

Ada sighed mawkishly with an exhaled 'awwww' and Nis smiled.

"I think it is most fortunate," Nis said, "A Man wouldn't appreciate you fully."

"To say nothing of their pitiful appearance," Ada said scrunching her nose in disguise. "So skinny, and not enough hair! Flimsy beards, and not enough meat on their legs! Ugh!"

Eorwyn giggled. "Well, you might want to have a look at Master Iwar, then. I think Man or not, he'd still be to your liking." Eorwyn gave the Dwarf a mischievous side glance. "He has an excellent build, he's strong and able. His hair is thick and silky, and the beard is most lavish. And I've seen him roll up his sleeves. He has lots of hair on his forearms."

Ada looked momentarily curious, and Nis burst into laughter.

"Don't confuse her, little bird." Nis shook her finger at Eorwyn. "And be careful to speak so favourably about that Man in front of your Dwarf. The Khazad are possessive. He might not take it well."

"I'm sure he knows he outshines any male, of any race to be honest," Eorwyn said and the image of the King came to her mind.

She shook her head. No one could compare to him, she thought, whatever was in question: the looks, the mind, the courage, the heart, the will.

"What sort of a magical beast are we talking about here?" Nis said with a chuckle and got up to start the kettle again. "To make our prude little bird so enamored."

"Has he proposed courtship to you already, Eorwyn?" Ada asked greedily. "He must have if he has feelings for you."

"He has," Eorwyn said. "I asked him to wait to announce it until I settle my business in Dale. Once it's all solved, I could come back to Erebor."

"It seems reasonable," Nis said from the kitchen.

"I wouldn't wait," Ada said grumpily. "When I choose a suitor, I'll announce it right away. I want to start the courtship as soon as possible - to find out if we're compatible and if I even want to be with him. What if I hate the sound of his chewing, or his busses are repulsive to me, or— Oh!" Ada gave Eorwyn a look over. "I see the latter is clearly not an issue for you, Eorwyn."

"Oh?" Nis entered the room with a fresh pot of tea. "Has our dove been playing around? Ha! Look at this blush!"

"What have you done already? Have you only kissed? Or—" Ada asked greedily.

"C'mon, she probably doesn't want to speak of it, Ada," Nis interrupted. "She's not a Dwarf. Women of Men probably don't even know the names for such things. And remember what your silly admirer told us, they mostly force their women into that sort of thing. No one gives them a chance to enjoy it."

Ada's face once again distorted in a grimace of revulsion.

"You can always ask us whatever you want to know, Eorwyn," Nis said softly. "I assume your Dwarf wouldn't expect you to know these things either, so he'll probably try not to shock you with… too much sensuality. So I assume he'll be restricting himself in your dalliances. Still, if you ever need to know about carnal matters, and herbs, and so on, ask us without hesitation."

"Thank you," Eorwyn said.

Her cheeks were burning, and she could hardly speak, but she appreciated the sentiment. She wished she could tell her friends that they didn't need to worry - she had not been shocked when she had kissed the King. If anything, she had been surprised by how much her body and her mind responded, and how much she delighted in their 'dalliances.'

"And you should know something mothers tell their daughters among the Khazad," Nis said firmly, "You should always say what you think and what you feel. If something is not to your taste just tell him to stop. And don't restrain yourself either. You need to try the hammer before you buy it, that's what they say," Nis said.

"Just don't… you know," Ada interjected, "_Try_ try the hammer. We don't do it before the wedding. Usually. Although most couples I know have… But you probably should try to refrain… Although technically that will just make you married, and if you're sure..."

Ada stumbled over her words and loudly cleared her throat. Nis snorted.

"Don't listen to her rambling, Eorwyn. She doesn't know what she's talking about. She's just easily distracted by beards and arms and beautiful legs."

Eorwyn giggled.

"The custom is to wait till you have the ceremony," Nis said, "But many can't wait. And if you've spent any time alone with your Dwarf, you can imagine how it happens. When you find the right Dwarf, it just feels right."

Eorwyn nodded. It did feel _right_ to kiss and caress the King. And she could see what Nis meant by not being able to 'wait.' Every time Eorwyn had been in his arms, it hadn't felt enough: she craved _more_, deeper passion, more closeness. The physical coming together that had always been described to her as a cruel and painful thing didn't frighten her now. The words of the Dwarven maiden had only confirmed it to Eorwyn: carnal union could be beautiful and pleasurable.

"I do have a question," Eorwyn said quietly, and both girls looked at her. "How do you know if a Dwarf's legs are beautiful? They are wearing trousers."

The laughter the three of them burst into lasted a long time and left them breathless.

"I am jesting," Eorwyn said when she could draw a breath. "I know what you speak of. Compared to the men here, Men in Dale do seem weak to me, sickly."

"It's the thighs!" Ada made a chopping gesture in the air. "I said it a thousand times, I'll say it again. A man should have strong legs and when he sits down the thighs need to look attractive. You need to look down and want to... touch them!"

Eorwyn and Nis were snorting, the Dwarven maiden obviously much less flustered by this talk.

"I do hope your Mother stops you if you decide to choose a husband for his thighs, you clot," Nis said. "It's his temper you should care about! You have many years to spend with him. He needs to be a good partner to you, a good Father to your children, and a mighty warrior if your dwelling is attacked."

"Aye, aye," Ada dismissed. "Sure, choose an old and boring one, who has a lot of gold and has all the training with the sword you can wish for. I'll choose one with large hands and many braids and—"

"A thick dark beard," Eorwyn exhaled, momentarily forgetting to keep her mouth shut, lost in her memories of the day in Dale when the storm had caught them in her rooms, and how he'd kissed her, and his scorching hand lay on her nape under her hair, and the coarse whiskers of his beard scraped at her palms when she'd cupped his face.

Nis and Ada gawked at her, and Eorwyn clasped her hand over her mouth.

"Mahal help me, I can't hold it back anymore," Ada as much as moaned, "Tell me more, birdie!"

"No, you aren't pulling it out of her," Nis said. "She'll tell us when she wants to. And right now she needs to rest."

"I could use a bath and an early repose," Eorwyn said shyly. "I haven't been sleeping well recently."

"Go, go, we'll clean everything up," Nis said. "Hey, don't glare at her!" she addressed Ada. "She's under no obligation to feed into your habit of discussing males."

"Alright, alright," Ada agreed reluctantly. "Will we have breakfast together?"

"An early one, please," Eorwyn said rising and picking up her bag from the floor to go to her chamber. "I have an appointment with King Thorin first thing tomorrow morning."

"Ah, speaking of beards," Ada said dreamily, "His is exceptionally lush."

"Get up, and help me, you lazy bum!" Nis slapped her with a dishcloth.

Eorwyn who was almost out of the room discreetly exhaled. Also, she had to agree, the King's beard was exceptional.


	46. Heated Greeting

Eorwyn knocked at his door, her whole body as if resonating in anticipation, and his voice allowing her entrance made a current run her veins. She jerked the door open and was ready to run into his arms, when she saw that he wasn't alone.

"Good morning, lord Balin," she said politely and gave the old Dwarf a bow.

"Master Eorwyn, what a pleasure!" The Dwarf's face lit up with a wide smile. "How have you been?"

He stepped to her stretching his hand, and Eorwyn placed her fingers in his. She was of course pleased to see him, but on the other hand she couldn't help but lament the lack of privacy.

"Morning, my lord," she addressed the King and sent him a small smile.

He stood behind his desk, and one corner of his lips curled up.

"Morning, Master Eorwyn."

Lord Balin led Eorwyn to a chair in front of the King's desk. She followed, but her gaze simply couldn't leave the King's face. His eyes were brilliant, a smile danced in them, and her heart beat, fluttering in her throat. He was so beautiful to her! A simple dark blue doublet with a swan collar suit him wonderfully. His body looked only stronger and more robust in the attire of an unembellished cut, his shoulders strikingly wide, his posture dignified.

Eorwyn remembered herself after a small polite cough of the old Dwarf. She took her seat and smiled at him.

"I'm well, thank you, my lord. I'm happy to be back in the Mountain."

"I see, I see," he muttered and grinned wider.

Eorwyn prepared herself for a long and decorous conversation about the trade and other affairs, which she'd normally welcome, but currently felt almost annoyed at the prospect of. She looked at the King askance and saw the same warm expression on his face. His eyes were on her, just as before, and her skin suddenly tingled.

"How have you been, my lord?" she asked, once again tearing her eyes off the King with difficulty. "How is your research into the history of Moria?"

"Good, good, it is good," lord Balin answered, and suddenly he got up and patted his sides. "I have some urgent matters to attend. I'll leave you to your ledgers and numbers. Have a good day, my lady." He nodded to the King. "Thorin."

Eorwyn started to get up, but he was already by the door with an agility uncharacteristic for his respectable age. The door closed behind him, and Eorwyn turned to the King and saw that he was already walking around his desk.

The next instant he bent down and wrapped his arms around her hips, and jerked her up, and she was above him with his face right in front of her. With a surprised yelp she jerked, and laughed, and leaned in, and claimed his lips, and embraced his neck. Busses and caresses followed, and her head swam.

"So, I reckon he knows now," the King muttered a few minutes later into Eorwyn's lips, and she winced away.

"What?"

"Balin," the King answered and kissed her cheekbone. "He has obviously guessed. You're a poor liar, little hen."

"I haven't been telling lies!" Eorwyn exclaimed bewildered.

"Aye, but you weren't supposed to announce so obviously that you're lusting after the King," he purred in a pleased tone, leaned in, and caught her ear between his lips. "You were ogling me, my love."

Eorwyn's fingers curled gathering handfuls of his doublet, as if without her will. She felt her knees weaken.

"I couldn't help it," she muttered. "I've missed you."

"_I _am not the one who wants to keep our liaison secret. If it were your will, I'd do what we're doing now openly, everywhere." His teeth grazed her lobe, and she heard her earring click at them. "Constantly, in every passage of my Mountain. Or better so, in my rooms."

Eorwyn moved away slightly without leaving the circle of his arms and looked into his eyes.

"Just yesterday I had a conversation with my friends about the customs of your people when it comes to… carnal matters," she said, blushing furiously. "We can't… go to your rooms… not yet," she finished in a hardly audible whisper, and he suddenly laughed carelessly.

"I'm simply teasing you again, my little hen. But I'm glad to see that you're considering the possibility." He chuckled. "I assume you haven't disclosed much to your friends."

Eorwyn shook her head.

"I didn't even want to have that discussion," she said shyly. "They just sort of… jumped at me with it. I think they were worried I'd marry a Man and stay in Dale. I reassured them that I had no intention to. But I haven't disclosed _how _unwilling I am to live anywhere but here." She tenderly cupped his face. "With you."

He caught her mouth in a long languished kiss, and she arched savouring being surrounded by his warmth.

"You're making it hard for me to wait for the official betrothal, my heart," he said eventually. "The longer we take, the longer I'll have to wait for our abkân."

"I know the meaning of this word," Eorwyn said, blushing only more. "My friends explained it to me."

He looked at her and smiled.

"It's good that you have friends to confide in. Women among the Khazad have a lot of support from their friends and their kin when it comes to family life."

"Ada and Nis are very supportive," Eorwyn said. "I'm lucky to have them."

He laughed and shook his head. "It is a tendency of yours, my heart, to call it 'luck' when you achieve something good."

Eorwyn looked at him without understanding, but he was kissing her again now, and she forgot everything else.

* * *

They were sitting on a settee, her on his lap, his arms around her waist, his fingers clasped loosely. Eorwyn was playing with a thick silky braid on the side of his face. She traced the runes on the bead with the tip of her finger.

"What does it mean?" she asked. "Oh, this reminds me, I should look into finding a tutor in Dwarven language for me."

"I can teach you," the King said, with a small smile, and Eorwyn gave him a feigned suspicious look.

"I worry you would not be able to stay professional, my lord," she said as if haughtily. "You strike me as a man easily distracted."

The King guffawed.

"Look what it all came to!" he drew out, his velvet baritone rumbling in his throat. "You're insulting me now, insolent woman."

"At least I'm not called a 'disobedient child,'" Eorwyn said and picked up the second braid.

"You are not a child," he said and pointed down the cut of her dress with his eyes.

Eorwyn gave out a loud fake gasp.

"See?" she exclaimed. "How do you expect us to study runes and read boring historical texts when your eyes stray to—"

Eorwyn didn't finish, and the King chuckled, and suddenly his lips were on her neck again.

"To your breasts?" he murmured between kisses. "I have to agree they are... distracting."

"Exactly," Eorwyn said in the same pretence strict tone. "This simply won't do."

"Maybe you could wear a shawl," the King offered, his shoulders shaking in laughter.

"It's not my job to hide my body," she answered this time a tad more seriously. "It is your job to keep your gaze where it belongs."

The King smiled at her warmly and nodded. "May I look now?"

"You may," Eorwyn said, with a smile as well, and pulled at his braids carefully but pointedly.

The King's lips were warm, and she felt his tongue brush at her bottom lip. She knew now that kisses could be of different kinds, some were fervent and greedy, and tongues and teeth played part, and she enjoyed such kisses. Sometimes kisses were playful, light, and teasing, and she enjoyed them too. There was always something new to learn, to try, to suggest - and somehow it wasn't that rare that it was she who was trying and suggesting, not in words of course, but by tasting, and nibbling, and opening his lips with her tongue, and making him turn his head like this or like that, so she could brush her lips to his cheek or kiss his cheekbone, or drop his head back so she could taste the skin on his throat. It was amazing to her - later, when she'd think about their caresses in the solitude of her room - how easy it was, to show what she wanted and to respond to his body.

"I have to concur, my little hen," the King said much, much later. "I would make a lousy teacher for you. All I want to talk about is body parts."

Eorwyn snorted.

"Tsk-tsk, my lord, how crude!" She laughed. "And what is there to discuss about elbows and toes?"

The King barked a guffaw.

"I know you think you're bringing up parts that shouldn't excite," he purred and suddenly his hand lay on her thigh. "But you see, my heart..."

It slid down, his fingers deftly picked up the hem of her skirt, and before Eorwyn could follow her friend's advice and decide to herself where what he was doing was 'up to her taste,' the King's hand wrapped around her ankle. He gently lifted her foot and then pushed her shoe off with his thumb. He hummed as if pensively.

"Aye, I was right," he said in a mournful tone and shook his head. "Even the toes are most enthralling."

Eorwyn giggled and wiggled the said toes.

"Well, now you're just being absurd, my lord," she said, but when she met his eyes she saw how dark they were.

Perhaps, he was only jesting in part.

"I think you're right. Instead of working on your ledgers we're now on a settee, talking about my toes. If we decide to take up language lessons, there will be no end to our… distractions," she said.

He nodded.

"I'll issue a permit for you, to go to the Library and find a tutor," he said.

"Thank you," she answered and kissed his cheek.

"And now, my love, let's speak seriously," he said. His eyes were still smiling so Eorwyn understood the coversation was to have a joyful subject. "We need to discuss the Royal Family dinner that always takes place as a part of the Zann Galikh, as well as what you are to wear to the festivities, and the presents I would like to exchange as part of the celebration."

Eorwyn blanched, and her spine went rigid. None of the subjects seemed joyous to her at all!


	47. Just This

The King picked up her chin with his curled index finger, looked into her eyes, and chuckled.

"Is my little hen panicked?"

"A bit," she whispered and then took a deep breath. "But only about a present to give you. I honestly don't have the slightest idea what- Oh! That reminds me! I haven't thanked you for the abacus!"

The King laughed and quickly kissed her. "You're welcome."

"I haven't thanked you yet!" Eorwyn frowned, and then remembered what he'd said once. "Remember when you came to Dale and I was so very worried about causing you distress, and you said, 'Don't pout!' and-"

By the end of her speaking the King was as much as guffawing. Eorwyn stopped and gave him a confused look.

"Aye, my little hen, what about me saying 'Don't pout'?" he asked cheekily.

"You said, 'You know what it does to me,'" Eorwyn said. "What does it mean? And why are you laughing now?" And then she once again remembered. "And thank you for the abacus! It's magnificent! And the beads are the perfect weight. I've never owned anything so exquisite in my whole life! Thorin, why are you laughing again?!"

She didn't get an answer to her question, because he jerked her to him, and kissed her, firmly and gleefully, and she never could form a single thought when he did! His hands roamed her upper body, and she moaned and arched into him. Before she felt they'd been stealing moments together, except for the day of the storm, but then everything had been new and raw. This time he was freer, and her head spun, and her body responded.

And then her back touched the settee. And he was above her, and he supported himself on one elbow, and his other hand slid on her waist, and up to her breast. It sent a jolt of some unfamiliar current through her. And then he pressed more, lowering more of his weight onto her, and suddenly she felt like no air could enter her chest - and fear replaced the excitement and the desire he awoke in her.

"Thorin, stop," she exhaled, and her voice was coarse and panicked.

He moved off her immediately, and his eyes roamed her face.

"Forgive me," he said in a sincere regretful tone.

He sat up and looked her over concerned. His fingers twitched. She assumed he was going to offer her a hand to help her to rise, but stopped himself.

"No, no, I just-" She took a few measured breaths and rose as well. "We've just never been..." She gestured a horizontal line with her flat hand. "And I got overwhelmed. You have nothing to ask forgiveness for. My friends have warned me that Dwarves generally have more sensual experience. I'll… learn," Eorwyn said, but then cringed. She didn't like how words sounded. "I'll learn _what I like_ and what I don't with time," she amended.

The King nodded. Eorwyn noticed a small crinkle between his brows.

"What is it, Thorin?" she asked, searching his face.

"It's nothing," he said. He gave her a smile but it looked forced.

"So what about your words then?" she asked, feigning a lighter tone.

She wanted to distract him from this hitch. It truly meant little. She was certain next time she would feel much more at ease.

"Ah, the pout," he said, and warmth returned to his eyes. "It's just… it's charming."

"But I don't pout," Eorwyn said, and he tilted his head, raising an eyebrow as he often did.

"Do you not? Your lips purse, and they are bright and red, and there's a little frown." He brushed between her eyebrows with his thumb, hardly touching. "And all I'd wanted then had been to find out whether your lips were as soft and warm as they look."

He laughed. "And no one pouts at me, my love. I am the King. While you-" he murmured and smiled at her tenderly. "You treat me artlessly. As a man. As your friend."

Eorwyn pondered his words.

"And you're welcome," he said, chuckling again. "For the abacus."

"Well, you see now? If we agree to exchange gifts for the Zann Galikh, which I know is a custom between kin and betrothed, what am I to give you? You are the King, just as you said. I can't purchase anything you don't have. And I can't make anything." She lifted her right hand and wiggled her fingers with difficulty. "I've mastered writing with the left one, but that's the limit of my abilities these days."

The King's face dropped.

"I did not know," he said. "I thought you always wrote with your left."

She shook her head musing how unobservant he had been - they'd spent days working on his ledgers at the same desk - and then she gave him a melancholy smile.

"I used to write and draw with my right one. I could sew and was a rather decent archer. I've always been good with my left, but I had to retrain a lot. I can write now, but my drawings are clumsy. And my archery skill is gone. I've been practicing, even purchased some arrows, but-" She shrugged.

The King picked up her hand and kissed the white scars on the back of her palm. Eorwyn pulled the hand back, embarrassed, and he immediately let go.

"There are more," she whispered, and he looked up.

"More of what?"

"Scars. On my body." Painful blush spilled on her cheekbones, and she looked away. "From the glass that cut me when I crawled out from that cellar. And… from before. When I was a child. When-"

"The Elf healer had told me that you'd endured tortures." The King's voice was hollow. "He thought then we'd been the cause."

"Oh no," Eorwyn exhaled. "But I'm sure his regard of your company improved after our talks. I told him how kind you'd been to me. And we did talk about my childhood. He needed to know what other possible damage there was."

Eorwyn noticed then that the King's face was dark, and she rushed to clarify, "They are just scars from blows, nothing more. I'm healthy, and I've never been-"

"Please, do not continue," the King interrupted her sharply, his face almost enraged. His features softened when he saw her wince away from his scowl.

"You don't have to explain yourself. Ever," he said gravely.

He still looked angered, but she was starting to understand that his fury wasn't aimed at her. She nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck. He stayed rigid for a few seconds, but then he moved closer and returned her embrace.

"You could gift me with a strand of your hair," he said quietly and pressed his face into her neck. Eorwyn felt his lips on her skin. There was little sensuality in the kiss, just warmth and affection. "It's traditional in courting couples, to exchange locks of hair. There are artisans who can lock the hair in a crystal and turn it into a jewel."

"Alright," she said.

They sat quietly for a bit. Something seemed to have shifted in their bond, Eorwyn thought, but she couldn't understand what it was and whether it was a change for better or for worse; and whether it would remain so, since these were nothing but early days.

"Will you attend the Royal Family dinner?" the King asked in the same manner, without lifting his face.

"I'll be honoured," she answered.

"My sister insisted," he added. Eorwyn couldn't understand why he felt it was important to clarify. "She sees you as a political asset to Erebor." A shadow of laughter rang in his words.

"I _am_ a political asset to Erebor," Eorwyn answered with hesitant humour. "I am the liaison between the Trade Councils of the two Kingdoms."

The King snorted. His warm breath tickled her.

"You just watch out. She'll try to marry one of my sister-sons to you," he said, straightening up. Sparks of jest danced in his blue irises. "She'd recently found out that such marriage is possible."

"Oh? I wonder how such knowledge became available to her," Eorwyn drew out.

"Purely _accidentally,_" the King said in an innocent voice. "A renowned jeweller from the East was visiting Erebor, and was invited for dinner, and somehow the conversation turned to the marriages between Men and Dwarves."

"Somehow," Eorwyn repeated, and the King smirked mischievously.

Eorwyn giggled. "I see. Still, if I were Lady Dis I wouldn't hope for it. The princes, as honourable, handsome, and charming as they are, are rather too young for my taste," she said stately, and the King snorted again.

"You're seventeen, my gem."

"I'm an old soul," she said with a shrug.

"That you are, my wise little hen," he said and kissed her cheek.

"As for the clothes I am to wear for the festivities, I know it's traditional to have a new attire. But I'm not your betrothed, _not yet_," Eorwyn said pointedly, "So it's not yet a question of status. I was considering purchasing a new shawl, to decorate the formal dress I already have."

"You should order a new attire completely," the King said, and opened his mouth to add more, but Eorwyn shook her head.

"Please, don't offer to pay for it. I know that the measly handful of silver that I possess now must seem laughable to you, but I'm proud of it. I've worked hard to earn and save it, and until I'm your Queen that's all I have. _I_ can't afford a new attire, and to be honest I consider buying a new dress for each occasion a waste. I'd rather buy more books, and I need new quills, and there is this ink bottle I've been eyeing. It's promised to never leak, and it has the most charming loops to put a belt through so it stays put in one's bag." Eorwyn noticed a smile on the King's face, and her nose twitched nervously. "I apologise for this tirade, but-"

"But you don't want me to pay for your attire because you're a proud little thing."

Eorwyn frowned not sure she enjoyed his wording. He noticed and smiled wider.

"Only in size, my love. You're little only in size." He gave her a respectful nod. "And charmingly proud. It is an enticing quality for a Dwarf," he murmured, and a pleasant sensual shiver ran Eorwyn's body. "Also, where did you see that ink bottle?" he asked nonchalantly, already kissing her neck.

"I'm not telling you," she said, her head dropping back. Her hands flew to his hair, and she felt the heavy silk waves run between her fingers.

"But you want it. And I want you to have _everything_ you want."

Eorwyn felt the urge to tell him that she'd always thought having less was a wiser choice. All good things came to an end, after all. Material things could be lost, people would leave, and all one had was the present moment - and it was to be savoured and one was to be grateful. And oh how grateful she was! For him, for his tenderness and his passion, for the peace and joy she felt near him. For his lips and his hands on her skin. For his gaze that met hers openly. For the little world the two of them shared right now, separate from anyone and anything, just theirs to cherish.

Suddenly a worry clenched her heart, and she embraced his neck desperately, and pulled him in, and pressed into him trembling.

"I don't need anything. Just being with you. I just-" Her whisper was frantic. "Don't give me anything. Just stay. Stay with me..."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said with a chuckle. "What came over you, my hen?"

"Nothing. Nothing..." She shook her head without loosening her grip on him. "Let's not tempt fate. I need nothing more. Just being here. Just you..."

She felt he wanted to argue, but then he just nodded and buried his nose in her hair. Yet, an uneasy feeling stayed in Eorwyn's heart, and she clenched handfuls of his strands and it seemed she just couldn't be close enough.


	48. Past and Present

The first day of the Zann Galikh was dedicated to celebrating the artisans among the Khazad. A large fete was held in the Lower Halls, every guild showing off their best creations. Erebor vendors displayed their goods. One could look at the schematics presented by the engineers and architects of Erebor. Miners brought samples from the veins from underneath the Mountain. Musicians played, trying to put the next company to shame, which only created the cacophony of tunes and voices that rang through the halls to everyone's delight.

Eorwyn woke up that morning in an excellent mood. The strange unrest she'd felt the day before in the King's study was now gone. She went out of her chamber and realised her friends had left already. There was a tray of breakfast and a jolly note left for her, informing her of their plans so she could join them if she wished. Eorwyn hastily ate the bread and cheese, downed a cup of coffee burning her tongue, picked up her sachet and shawl, and rushed out. Anticipation and excitement coursed her body, and she as much as hopped when quickly walking the passages.

"Master Eorwyn!" a voice called from behind her when she was turning a familiar hallway near the Royal courts.

She saw a courtier behind who'd clearly been waiting for her to pass that way, and she slowed down.

"A note from the King, my lady," the young Dwarf said and handed her a folded parchment with a bow.

Eorwyn thanked him with a smile. She broke the wax seal, shaking her head wondering why the King would be so indiscreet, but smiling nonetheless. She simply loved seeing his confident slanted handwriting.

_I can imagine you __pout__ at such lack of discretion from me, my little hen, but I simply yearn to see you. I am to inspect the Great Forges this morning. Have pity over a besotted Dwarf. Make a small detour before you go to the Manaru.*_

_Yours,_

_Thorin, son of Thrain_

"Will there be an answer?" the courtier asked, and Eorwyn shook her head again.

"No, there won't be."

* * *

Eorwyn had been to the Great Forges before, as part of her work with Master Svuir. She passed through a wide corridor, full of Khazad, both idle walkers on the day of the Manaru, the Great Market, and those who looked purposeful.

She entered the Forges through a narrow side staircase and froze on the landing, her breath taken away by the view of the caverns, and the bellows, and the giant mining cars moving on ziplines, and the forges themselves, flame roaring in them. The sounds of smiths working at their stations rang through the massive space. She had to run her eyes around the Forges several times before she noticed the King. Accompanied by a small group of High Lords, he was slowly walking along one of the tall balconies. An older Dwarf, probably one of the guild chiefs, seemed to be giving the King a tour, pointing at this and that with wide gestures of his hands.

Eorwyn ogled the King. With his arms crossed on his chest, he cut a fine figure. He moved with regal grace, distinguished and intimidating in his lavish attire of a brocaded black doublet, trousers, and tall boots; his wide-shouldered, agile body stood out among the Dwarves. Looming over others, he looked every bit the warrior and the leader he was.

Eorwyn edged into a passage leading towards the balcony. She met no one in it, and soon she was on a smaller ledge just underneath where the inspection was taking place. Suddenly she felt rather ridiculous. What was she supposed to do? Going up the stairs and popping up in front of him was out of the question. Find a pebble and throw it to make the King notice her? He was still standing on the balcony, listening attentively - or at least so it seemed - to the Dwarf in front of him. Eorwyn shifted her weight between her feet and sighed. Him asking her to come was a sweet gesture. Her showing up and being stuck in a dark corner - that was her own stupidity in action.

She decided she'd watch him for a few more seconds - simply because she was so in love with him that everything he did looked disproportionately attractive to her - and then she'd go to the market and enjoy herself.

And then he suddenly threw a look over his shoulder - right at where she was standing! He couldn't see her, she was certain of it. She was hidden from everyone's eyes by the balustrade. And then he nodded, hardly noticeably. Eorwyn pressed further back, into the cold wall, and released the breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding. The King and the retinue moved on. Eorwyn giggled and leaned against the wall.

She didn't have to wait long. She heard a soft rustle in the passage behind. She whipped her head - and he was in front of her. A pair of strong arms wrapped around her, and she was forcefully jerked into a firm scorching body.

"Mahal, you came," he exhaled before catching her mouth in an indecent greedy kiss.

Eorwyn laughed gleefully.

"Did you expect me to ignore your invitation?" she whispered playfully.

The King didn't answer, but after all his lips were preoccupied.

"Come," he said after a few minutes of kisses, and picked her hand and pulled her into a side passage.

Eorwyn followed eagerly.

"Where are we going?"

"We're running away, and—" He sharply stopped himself and turned to her. His expression was suddenly tense, as if something in his own words distressed him. "Unless you don't care to see what I have to show."

Eorwyn's eyes roamed his face in confusion. Just an instant ago he seemed excited and good-humoured.

"I want to see _anything_ you have to show," she reassured him.

He studied her face for a few seconds, shook his head, and continued walking in his usual wide stride, her hand firmly grasped in his. Eorwyn tried to keep up.

The room he brought her in was a small guard room, located at the top of three flights of narrow spiral stairs. Eorwyn had had no trouble climbing them, being so small, but the King could hardly fit. Nonetheless, he'd ascended quickly, pulling at her hand through it. When he opened the door and they walked in, Eorwyn realised the room had been abandoned and locked for years. Dust covered most of the surfaces, except for a simple wooden table and two chairs near it. The table was laid with a fresh linen cloth, and Eorwyn saw several plates of food and two clay bottles on it.

"Is this… a breakfast?" she asked.

The King smiled at her and nodded.

"For us?" she decided to once again confirm, and he laughed.

"Of course. But that's not what I brought you here for," he said and led her to a narrow window in the wall.

They had to maneuver between some dusty pieces of furniture, and he opened a shutter covering the window. It wasn't wide, and to look out of it Eorwyn had to step really close to him.

"Look, my heart, this is the heart of the Mountain, of _our_ Mountain," he whispered.

Eorwyn looked. The Forges underneath glowed, and as if, indeed, a heartbeat pulsed in them and in the rhythm of the movements of the labouring Dwarves, many feet below the window Eorwyn was peeking through.

"That's what the Mountain is all about," he said gravely. "This is its centre, the legacy of my people. Of _your_ people, if you choose to become my Queen."

Eorwyn kept watching the small figures of the Dwarves and the rivers of gold running below.

"It's beautiful. So… alive," she murmured, her gaze on the flames and lights and the shining rivers of molten metal.

"Many would say it's just cold gems, and ores, and metal here. Nothing grows here. Some see only greed and fire and avarice."

Eorwyn slowly shook her head and laughed softly. "Many would say that there is no life in my beloved numbers either. That they are cold and soulless as well. But I think there is beauty and life in any pursuit," she murmured, almost forgetting he was near her. "As long as one is loyal to themselves and to the craft."

She then remembered herself and turned to him. He was watching her face with warmth and affection in his eyes.

"I never thought your people… _our_ people," she corrected, "avaricious. Well, perhaps they are," she added with a small laugh, "But it has to do with knowing one's worth, and saving for a rainy day, and taking care of one's kin… I don't know..." She blushed. "One thing is for sure, I'll take the hot forges and dark passages of Erebor over the forests and rivers of the outside world."

The King cupped her face and led her lips to his in a slow tender kiss.

* * *

They ended up sitting at the table, eating breakfast, the second one for Eorwyn, and conversing for almost three hours. Time flew by immensely quickly when she was with him. They talked of the trade in Dale, of the Market, and of the customs surrounding the Zann Galikh. Eorwyn was so engrossed in listening to the King's descriptions of the festivities that she'd forget to bite or chew, and he would laugh and push a piece of cake or fruit to her on the plate. Eorwyn would laugh as well and pick it up. And then she'd freeze with food held near her lips, once again absorbed in their conversation.

At the end they both knew it was time to separate - and neither seemed to wish to.

"Well, my heart, it's time for goodbyes, isn't it?" the King drew out, and Eorwyn sighed. "I have more of the dull audits to participate in, but I will see you at the dance tonight, will I not?"

He tenderly picked up her hand from the table, and his thumb brushed at her knuckles.

"Aye," she answered enthusiastically. "I'm rather excited. Last time I knew no dances, and I lacked education in the customs, but this time I intend to enjoy the dance more."

"Leave me a line in your card," he said with a chuckle.

"I don't know if it's prudent, my lord," Eorwyn said with a shake of her head. "I'm afraid our dance could reveal too much."

"Not if you promise to keep your hands from wandering," he answered, and Eorwyn snorted.

"May I point out that my hands are behaving at the moment, while one of yours is cupping my bottom?" Eorwyn squirmed on his lap to emphasize, and her buttock received a gentle squeeze.

"I can't help it," he murmured and pushed his nose behind her ear. "You're like a crab apple, all sweet and… firm."

She giggled.

"I have a gift for you, my little hen," the King said, without lifting his face, and Eorwyn tensed on his lap.

He turned his face to meet her eyes.

"It's not a dress," he said with a smile. "I have taken what we spoke of in consideration."

"Is it the ink bottle?" she couldn't help but ask hopefully.

"No, it's not." He laughed. "But if you tell me where I can purchase it..." he trailed away pointedly.

Eorwyn sighed. He chuckled again.

"I see. I will have to find it myself." He kissed her cheekbone. "But you said no attires - and no jewellery, I assume - so…"

He stretched his hand under the table, and pulled out a large parcel wrapped in parchment. He placed it on her lap, and Eorwyn pulled at a ribbon holding it together. As soon as one corner opened, she saw some velvet fabric, richly embroidered, and decorated with tiny gems.

She wanted to immediately argue, but then she reminded herself that it was a gift, and one of the first ones she'd ever received in her life. Gratitude, surely, would be a wiser choice than silly squawking and prideful refusals.

She opened the wrapping and carefully picked up the object. It unrolled in her hands, spilling on her lap, and Eorwyn gasped.

"Maiar, it's magnificent!" she exclaimed.

The cloak she held in her hands was of dark burgundy colour, with the brocade of golden and silver thread. And then she burst into gleeful laughter. Weaved into the pattern adorning the fabric were round and jolly birds - and if one looked attentively, no doubt was left that those were chickens.

"I've ordered it a while ago," he said. "Look inside."

Eorwyn did and saw that the cloak was reversible, the inside of it being of an equally rich velvet, but in a much darker tone, without any decorations.

"When you don't wish to show your plumage, my little hen, you can just flip it," the King said, "But tonight you can wear it the bright side out and you won't have to worry about refreshing your dress."

Eorwyn hastily placed the cloak on the table, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him firmly and eagerly. Her words of gratitude had to wait quite a while, since the King seemed to very much improve of this method of expressing her emotions.

"Thank you! I adore it! It's so very beautiful and practical!" she finally exclaimed. She ran her hand over the birds. "You're indulging me!"

"With utmost pleasure," he pointed out tilting his head, his eyes twinkling.

Eorwyn just couldn't stop touching the fabric, her fingers tracing the lines of the embroidery.

"I couldn't imagine they made something of the sort!" she exclaimed. "I know it's bespoke, but the chickens..." She laughed.

"Mistress Algun had to commission three of her best threadmasters."

Eorwyn's hand froze.

"It is… made by Mistress Algun?" she asked bewildered.

"Aye," the King answered offhandedly. "She is after all the best needlemaster of Erebor."

"And you've..." Eorwyn choked on her words. "You commissioned a cloak for _me_ from her?!"

"Aye." He gave her a confused look. "Why?"

"Did you… explain to her that... Does she know it's for _me_?!"

"Aye, of course she knows. She needed to know your colours, for the velvet, and the thread for the brocade," the King answered.

Eorwyn opened her mouth, and then closed it, and then opened it again. And then she shut it with a clank of her teeth. Obviously, the man saw nothing wrong with commissioning a present for his present paramour from his former one! And even if it had been presented as a gift to one's bookkeeper, which officially Eorwyn still was to him, still… he knew! And Eorwyn knew! And what would Mistress Algun feel if she _knew_ as well?!

Eorwyn stared at him for a few seconds - and then with all possible clarity she understood he had indeed commissioned the cloak from his former betrothed and for no other reason than the fact that she was the best needlemaster in Erebor. And he of course only gifted with the best available. Because he was a King. And no other considerations, and doubts, and thoughts entered his head.

Eorwyn finally inhaled and then slowly released the breath. And then she burst into laughter.

"Thank you for my cloak," she finally said and kissed his lips. "It's a wonderfully thoughtful gift."

Clearly satisfied with her reaction, he grinned and pulled her in for more dalliances. Eorwyn decided she was very much content with this and kissed him back.

She was starting to accept these days that she simply didn't yet know how the Khazad treated some questions, and she would just remind herself that it would be unreasonable to try to judge before she investigated. Perhaps, what she assumed Mistress Algun would think if she knew was very much far from what Mistress Algun would feel when the King and Eorwyn's courtship was to be announced.

* * *

**My darlings, I have a question for you. Quite soon, possibly in the next chapter, we might be entering a slightly more… sensual realm ;) I'm afraid the King and Eorwyn simply can't keep their hands off each other. I've been trying to keep the two lovebirds within the limits of T rated prose, but the two rascals seem to be determined to… explore more! LOL! So, the question is whether I should bump the rating up, make it M, and put the fun stuff straight into this story? Or should they go into separate companion pieces? Let me know in your reviews. Just remember, that when I say M I don't mean hard-core smut, obviously. There might be an occasional tasteful description of a penis here and there, and some nudity, but these two are such vanilla cupcakes after all… ;) Hahaha!**


	49. Other Dance Partners

**Author's Note:**

**I swear to all gods and deities, I don't know what happened in this chapter! I let my characters out of my sight for a few days... and all hell breaks loose! That just shows you! I have zero say in all this writing business :P So don't blame me, blame these two numpties!**

* * *

Thorin thoroughly enjoyed the evening of the dance. The ale was excellent, and the music delighted him. He had two dances with his little bookkeeper, one naibdikhi - when pairs slowly circled the room, meeting and separating again and again - and an izgini, one of his favourites. The latter was a more vigorous, lively dance, hands were held more, and she'd quickly walk around him, and her heavy skirt wrapped around his legs. She'd told him the day before she'd been practicing with her friends - and her increased skill was obvious. He'd always known she moved well, gracefully and lightly. She was a giving, responsive partner.

It was almost midnight when the guests started leaving. Normally revels lasted much longer, but the next day was the Nadram, the second day of the festivities, and many wanted to save their strength. The Nadram was the celebration of love: courtships were to be announced, proposals were to be made publicly, dancing went on all day. It was customary to exchange gifts with one's beloved that day, and Thorin was looking forward to gifting his little hen with the necklace he'd had commissioned for her.

Lady Var continued droning something in front of him, something about the renovations in the sewerage of the Lower Halls. Thorin finished his ale and discreetly looked around. Eorwyn was nowhere to be seen.

"It'll be the last dance probably," the Dwaren dame said, making him focus on her again. "Could I have it, my lord?"

He distractedly smiled at her and nodded. She was a good dancer, confident and enthusiastic. He'd known her family in Blue Mountains. Still trying to catch a sight of his little hen, he lingered. Lady Var laughed, picked up the mug out of his hands, and put it on the nearest table.

"If we wait any longer, I'll get just a few steps with you, my lord," she said flirtatiously, and he gave her another smile.

She took his hand and led him to where a few other pairs were already lining up.

* * *

Thorin left after the dance with Lady Var. On the way to the passage he noticed Balin and gave him a small wave. He considered asking the old Dwarf whether he'd seen the bookkeeper, but thought against. Balin already knew too much, it seemed.

Thorin walked the Western passage. He yawned widely, thinking fondly about his bed, when a slender arm flashed out from an alcove. His doublet on his chest was grasped firmly, and he was pulled in.

The woman pressed into him flush, and the aroma of some sweet perfume hit his nose. Warm soft lips brushed at his. He twisted his face away. The woman's breath smelled of ale.

"My King," a sensual murmur snaked into his ear. "Forgive my forwardness, but-"

Thorin winced away. She held on to him tightly, so he put his hands on her shoulders and decisively moved her away from him. It was dark behind the curtain that hid them, but his eyes grew accustomed to it, and he recognised Lady Turith, Gloin's niece. She was a voluptuous blonde, one of the most popular maidens at the revel. They'd danced thrice that evening.

"My lord Thorin, please..." she whispered and jerked against his hands, clearly trying to plaster herself into him again.

"Please, stop," he said in a low voice.

He heard a quiet gasp from her.

"Have I- Have I misunderstood?" she muttered and stopped struggling against his push. "I thought you were… interested."

"In a hurried dalliance in a dark corridor?" Thorin grumbled in irritation. "I can't imagine I ever would be."

She shied away from him and dropped her eyes to her hands. He saw her tangle her beautiful pale fingers.

"You showed passion in our dance. Everyone could see it!" she said stubbornly. "Perhaps, I shouldn't have approached you thusly. I misunderstood. But the sentiment was surely there."

"The sentiment surely was not there," Thorin barked.

"Oh, Mahal," she groaned and took a step back. "How could've I-"

Now that she'd finally stopped touching him, he took his temper under control and even felt sorry for the maiden.

"No harm done, Lady Turith," he said. "As long as we now understand each other."

"Aye, my lord," she answered sheepishly.

She gave him a small bow and rushed out of the alcove. Thorin stood there for a few seconds, not as much as to recover from the ridiculous incident, as to make sure they weren't seen together in a compromising position. He then stepped out into the passage as well and started walking to his chambers.

* * *

He bumped into his bookkeeper two turns away from the entrance to the Royal Halls. She was hurrying along the passage, in the opposite direction from him, her hood lowered onto her face, but of course he recognised her. He'd gifted her with this cloak! She was prudently wearing it the dark side out, but he recognised it immediately.

"Halwur?" he asked in disbelief, and she as much as jumped away from him.

"Oh, it's you..." Relief rang in her voice.

"What are you-" He decided questions could wait. "Come, come inside," he urged her and opened the door to his parlour.

She dashed inside, he followed and quickly closed the door behind them.

She pushed the hood back off her face. He saw feverish red spots burning on her cheeks.

"Is something wrong, my heart?" he asked concerned.

He stepped to her and gently touched her shoulder. She lowered her eyes, looking bashful.

"Forgive me, I shouldn't have- I don't know what came over me. I came here, but then I realised what- how it'd look, and I ran away. I didn't even knock, but-"

She looked up at him while talking, and then suddenly she froze, her eyes fixed on his lips.

"Oh..." she breathed out through rounded lips. "Oh no..."

"What is it?" He was starting to feel truly worried.

"There is… there's rouge on your lips." Her face twisted in a distressed grimace.

His hand flew up, and he hastily wiped his mouth. He saw the red on the back from his palm.

"Eorwyn-"

"Please, don't explain!" she exclaimed and shook her head frantically. "Please-"

"It wasn't what you think it was," he said.

Anger rose. He simply hated being in such situations! He had nothing to blame himself for, and he hated explaining himself. He hardly ever did, to think of it. And again, it wasn't his fault!

"It's for the best, it is," she muttered quietly. Her shoulders were slouching. "After all, that's why I was coming here. I just- I saw it, during the revel, all those women- And what do I have to offer? I just saw- the comparison, and-"

"What are you talking about?" he barked, and her eyes flew up to his face.

He saw large tears in them, and her red mouth, lips trembling. Her throat bobbed. She looked pained, wan, and he stepped to her.

"Some demented woman kissed me in a passage! That was just a nuisance. What are you talking about?"

"I just saw it… there on the revel… I'm no match for you!" she cried out in anguish and hid her face behind her hands.

"Eorwyn..." He glared at her. "What sort of nonsense is this?"

Her body was quaking, but no sound came.

"Eorwyn," he said softer.

He took her hand by the wrist and pulled her into him.

"No..." she exhaled, and he released her.

She was shaking her head frantically, still covering her face.

"What have you gotten into your head, my little hen?" he said quietly, and a sob fell off her lips. "C'mon, my heart, don't be silly..."

Her hands dropped, and she looked at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and the tears stained the cheeks, but she now looked more enraged than upset.

"I am not silly," she said. "I might be less capable to have myself under control than some, but it doesn't make me doltish. Feeling- feeling more doesn't make one weaker. Or dimmer."

"I didn't say-"

"And if anything, this simply proves to you that I'm not… worthy," she interrupted. "I can't be like them."

"Who them?" He just couldn't understand what was happening to her!

"All those beautiful, capable Dwarven women!" her voice started rising again. "The ones you danced with! They can talk to you, laugh with you, flirt! They feel free enough to kiss you! They have talents, they have their families! They know where they belong! What do I have to compare?!"

"Why do you have to compare?"

He frowned. He wanted to touch her, to embrace her, to comfort her, but at the same he felt irked by her preposterous lamentations.

"One day you'll see it too," she said gravely, finally calming down. "That it was just a… mistake. So..." She took a deep breath. "I release you. From your promise to me."

And that was when his annoyance reached its peak.

"You what?"

"I release you," she repeated mournfully.

"Because I kissed another? It was one kiss! And it wasn't even on my volition!"

He probably shouldn't have shouted. She stepped back, obviously shaken by his outburst. He knew her past made her terrified of such tone - but she was driving him mad!

"It has nothing to do with the… kiss." She grimaced again. "It's just-"

"It's just that you prefer to pity yourself and run away rather than to fight for what you want! Because you do! You do want me!" Rage boiled in his blood. "You're just too scared!"

"Of course I am!" she screamed back.

She clenched her fists. Her eyes blazed, and the curls shook around her face, like flame, when she stepped forward, close to him.

"Of course I'm scared! I never had anything! Not even a dream! Not even a glimpse of hope! I never dared to want anything, because I would just have to give it up! And then you offer me… you! And it's like you give me life! You let me live!" He heard her gasp, her chest rose, and she shook, but she was no timid child anymore. "I can feel when I'm with you! I can love! It's like my whole body and my soul sing! And then I hear them talk about you, how it's as much as decided that Lady Turith is the perfect match for you, and I know her! She'd make the perfect Queen for you! She knows trade, she'd had the diplomacy training. She'd give you healthy sons, and-"

Her mentioning Turith made him cringe.

"You're being preposterous," he growled. "I chose you. What does it matter what others are like?"

"They said that enough time had passed after your betrothal with Mistress Algun was annulled," she continued determinedly. "That it had been just a whimsey of yours, that you chose Algun for her looks; and now you'd come to your senses, and that Erebor needed an heir. What if-" She looked aside, her face once again forlorn. "What if I can't give you that?"

"Eorwyn..."

"All evening today… I kept making mistakes," she said. "I don't know the customs. I'm no Dwarf, Thorin. And as much as we both want it, it's impossible to forget. I offended Lord Balvari in a conversation about the Moria times. I mixed up dances. I didn't know proper protocol when it came to dinner seating. I love you, Maiar help me, with all my heart, but what kind of wife will I make for you? And if at the end I can't even bare your children-"

"We don't know it. Remember what that boy had said-" he started to argue.

"I saw him today. I saw Amri," she interrupted, her voice pained. "The look he'd given me! We danced, you and me, and I caught his eyes. He despises me… And they all will." She shook her head again. "I'm unworthy, Thorin."

"It's for me to decide," he said.

"No, it's not! It's not just up to you!" She jerked her chin up. "It's my life too, my heart! I won't survive! Don't you see it?! When you finally realise that I'm not for you, I will… break! It'll shatter me! I can't… I can't… breathe..."

She gulped air, and pressed her hand to her chest. She was pale now, and he felt fear. She indeed look as if there was a wound in her breast.


	50. Glimpse of Truth

Eorwyn's head spun. Pain tore at her heart and her mind. He was right of course, fear governed her now. She seemed to have been making one grave mistake after another that evening - and the world seemed as if hidden from her behind a thick black veil.

All night she had to listen to the chatter around her: of how the beautiful Lady Turith was seen dancing with the King, and how 'finally he'd seen the merits in her,' and how he obviously favoured her over others since he'd danced with her thrice. Eorwyn knew little of traditions, and he had danced twice with her, and perhaps it had been indeed significant.

And Eorwyn told herself not to listen.

And then Arla, her former student, who served in the Archives told her that Lord Balin had requested Lady Turith's family tree parchments and clearly it was for an Indenture contract and judging by how many generations of Lady Turith's ancestors were under scrutiny it had been the King she was to enter the courtship with.

And Eorwyn reminded himself that he would never do so without first ending his association with her.

But then she saw the King stand near Lady Var, and his eyes wandered the hall. And Eorwyn wondered if it were her or Lady Turith he was seeking out.

And she walked back to her chambers, again and again repeating to herself that she was being preposterous, and Nis and Ada kept discussing the evening like they always did after revels, and who had looked how at whom - and again and again their conversation would turn to the passion with which King embraced Lady Turith, and how meaningful each of his gestures had been, and how perfect they looked together. 'Oh I wish a man looked at me with so much desire!' they said. 'She's only resided in Erebor for two moons, and already he's infatuated,' they said. 'This is their first revel together, and surely it was her luscious new attire and the brocade cloak that have finally opened his eyes on her allure.' And of course, 'Oh how beautiful their sons will be! Mahal has been generous to her family, they bear children easily. She will gift him with many daughters!'

And then Eorwyn stepped into his parlour with him, and Lady Turith perfume emanated from his doublet.

And her rouge was on his lips.

Of course, it wasn't him who kissed. She believed him. He was too honourable and noble for it. But wouldn't he have noticed how right it had been? Kissing her instead of Eorwyn?

She had to let him go, to release him.

He had continued his betrothal to Mistress Algun, while harbouring his desire for Eorwyn. Was it too much to assume the situation repeated itself? After all, though unintentionally, Eorwyn was partly at fault for their separation. Fate was a cruel player. Putting Eorwyn to her place, reminding her what an unassuming little nothing she was by putting her through a torture she'd subjected another woman to would be quite ironic.

A strange thought came. She felt almost surprised to realise that she hadn't known what true pain was. She'd been beat up, tortured, almost drowned. She'd known whips and chains, and the piercing cold on the Lake, and glass cutting into her flesh. And yet, the anguish she felt now knew no equal. The air sliced her throat and lungs. Her flesh twisted. Her eyes burnt. Love was a diseases, Eorwyn had to agree - and it was fatal.

The room swam before her eyes, but she gathered her will and looked him in the eyes. He drew his brows together, and she exhaled slowly, preparing her voice to say her goodbyes.

"You know, my little hen, just a few Springs ago I would have let you go," he spoke before she could, his voice low and calm. "I would have thrown you out of this room. I'd take offence and I would rage."

He shook his head and walked to an armchair. He sat heavily and gave her an unreadable look over.

"I mean no offence, Thorin, but-"

"Of course you don't," he interrupted. "You're saving me from unwise choices. You're treating me as a child, by the way, like a child who doesn't know what's best for him. It's utterly disrespectful, my heart."

Eorwyn gasped, taken aback. It was the opposite from what she meant! She simply wanted to aid, to make it easier for him to cease their association without tarnishing his honour.

"But I've learnt quite a lot in my exile," he continued, "And the quest has taught me a lot. But most of all, I've learnt a lot _loving_ you. I've learnt acceptance, and I've learnt patience. So no, Eorwyn, I'm not accepting your renege right now. You can't take your word back." He shrugged. "You can leave now, I won't stop you. But in my mind, you are my betrothed. And it'll remain so for ever."

Eorwyn started shaking.

"But..." She tried to focus, but her thoughts tangled. "Lady Turith-"

"Lady Turith is quite an appalling kisser, if you wish to know," he said in an almost bored tone.

Eorwyn gasped. How could he be so flippant?! The sheer thought of him connected with another as if wrenched her flesh and ripped through her mind, and he just sat there with a nonchalant expression on his face!

"I'm sure she'll learn," Eorwyn sneered, and he tilted his head and looked her over like some sort of a curiosity.

She needed to go, Eorwyn thought. She needed to leave the room. He'd understand soon! She needed to go - and she couldn't move a single muscle. What if he was... _right_? What if she… wasn't?

What if she'd just gotten scared, just as he'd said? What if all the terrible truth that had opened to her that evening was nothing but _her_ fear and _her_ doubt?!

She'd thought at some point of this disastrous evening, that if she was out of his life, he'd forget her, and he'd make better choices. His words rang in her mind: _You're treating me as a child, by the way, like a child who doesn't know what's best for him. It's utterly disrespectful, my heart. _How could she assume what choices were better for him when they were _his_ choices?

The evening had been one calamity after another, and slowly and painfully she had been getting more and more convinced that all she'd thought of her life and her fortune just a few hours ago had been a lie. Her confidence - which she'd possessed so little of, to start with - had been melting away, and with it her assurance that she had the _right_ \- the right to love him, to have him, and to give herself to him.

But seeing his calm face now, she suddenly found a small island of clarity in her despair - and could look at the _facts_.

And then she remembered that he would never lie to her. He wouldn't deceive, hide, or kiss women behind her back. If he indeed found himself infatuated with another, he would simply say so. He was Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain. The dark mist before her inner gaze wavered, and she saw his face, as if for the first time in the excruciating hours of mental struggle and anguish.

She stood, frozen in the centre of his parlour; he continued to simply sit in the armchair, his elbow on the armrest, his fist in front of his mouth.

"Thorin..." she whispered, and he glanced up.

"Yes?"

"Please..."

"Please what?" he asked.

Eorwyn swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth.

"Forgive me," she exhaled. She still couldn't make herself move. "Forgive me..."

Silence reigned in the room, for a few long seconds. She stood, holding her breath. And then he stretched his hand to her, opening the palm.

"Come."

The first step was the hardest, as if she'd been bedridden for moons. Every muscle hurt. Finally she shifted her right foot on the floor. She moved, one step, then another; and her hand felt heavy and shaky - and then her fingers lay into his. The touch of his scorching skin sent a ripple of agonising shudder through her body, and she whimpered. He opened the other arm, and she fell into his embrace, onto his lap, clutching the first hand in hers. His arms went around her, and she wept.

She hid her face into his neck, and he simply let her cry. He didn't speak, didn't console, didn't berate. He simply held her, gently rocking her from side to side.

After a long time, when no tears seemed to be left in her, she was still quaking, and her breathing escaped her in short gasps.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry..." she muttered between the breaths. "Forgive me… I just… I'm so sorry..."

He pressed his cheek to the top of her head.

"I almost lost you..." she exhaled, and a strange raspy heave burst out of her. "Maiar, I almost gave you up… I can't believe it..."

He made a soft comforting noise, and his fingers ran her hair.

"It's alright. You're alright now," he murmured, and she shook her head frantically.

"I've almost ruined it all! I can't believe- can't believe it- I almost pushed you away..."

"You can't push me away, my love," he whispered. "I gave you my word."

* * *

Her crying was subsiding, and with it came some sort of apathy. She felt almost sleepy.

"Eorwyn?" he called to her softly, and she hummed. "Do you want me to walk you to your room?"

That made her awake. Her eyes flew open, and her fingers clenched around a fistful of his doublet.

"No, no, I don't- don't want to leave."

He studied her face silently. She felt panic grip her heart. She'd just had a taste of what it would have been like to be without him, to have given him up. She simply couldn't bear it now!

"Please..." she whispered.

He nodded to his thought and then he shifted, still embracing her tightly. And then he rose picking her up in his arms. Eorwyn stared at him flabbergasted. A thought that he'd carried her like that in Mirkwood flashed through her mind. He walked through the parlour, and then turned around and opened some door, pressing his back into it. It was dark in the room, and Eorwyn didn't dare to tear her eyes off his face to look around.

And then he sat down, and she realised they were in his bedchamber, on his bed. He shifted his body and carefully put her down. And then he lay near her, and she rushed ahead, and pressed into him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she shifted even closer, craving more of his warmth.

And then even this wasn't enough.

She stretched her neck and found his lips.

"Eorwyn..." he murmured after a few minutes of kisses: her demanding more, and him seemingly holding back.

"I'm sorry," she said again, and kissed again. And again she was whispering, "I'm sorry."

"Don't..." he exhaled, and her lips slid onto his cheek, and then her teeth teased his jaw.

"Don't what?" she asked, and greedily tasted his throat, desire taking her, all her body as if flooding with heat.

She felt _alive_! The terror that had behumbed and frozen her body was leaving her, and she burnt! He didn't answer her, and his head dropped back, baring his throat to her.

"Thorin..."


	51. More

Thorin ground his teeth. Her hands wandered his body, she'd grab his shoulders, then brush her palms down his arms, and her hot mouth pressed to his throat. She was also making little noises, half-moans, half-groans; and her body writhed, rubbing to him.

"Eorwyn..." He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and exhaled sharply. "Stop..."

She immediately froze, and he opened his eyes. Her face was flushed, her lips were red and swollen, her copper hair disheveled, in a flaming cloud around her face, and she looked bewitching! She started muttering apologies, and backing up, sliding off his body. He grabbed her upper arm, halting her.

"Don't be distressed, my love. I do enjoy your caresses." He could see she needed reassurance. "But you need to be aware of what's transpiring."

She studied his face for a few seconds, and then she sat up and looked down at him. A frown crinkled her forehead.

"I'm no child, Thorin," she said, her bearing and voice showing none of the previous frantic arousal and the almost mad hunger. "I know _what_ was transpiring here."

"Do you?" he asked softly.

She huffed some air out.

"I apologise if I offended you-" she started haughtily.

"You haven't," he interrupted. "I simply want to make sure that-"

"That I'm not a naive girl who doesn't understand where babies come from?" she interrupted him in turn.

"Or that you don't feel like you have to prove something to me," he said pointedly, and her eyes widened.

"You think- You think I'd- Because of the quarrel we'd just had?!" she exclaimed, her voice rising.

"It wasn't a quarrel," he tried to speak patiently. "You have almost renegaded out of our betrothal. So I can see how you would try to show your affection and your loyalty to me now-"

"By _bedding_ you?!" This time her interruption was loud. She also looked quite angered. "I simply couldn't be that calculative, Thorin. Do not think me manipulative! I just- wanted it, and I did it! If my liberties aren't to your liking-"

She started climbing off his bed, and he sat up, and gently wrapped his fingers around her upper arm again.

"Eorwyn..."

"Let me go!" she hissed, and he immediately released her.

"Please, hear me," he called after her. "My love, I don't think you simple or cunning! Please! I just don't know how educated you are in carnal matters-"

She stopped moving to the edge of the bed and looked at him over her shoulder. Her brows were still drawn together.

"Please, I simply don't want you to-"

"What?" she asked in an unpleasant tone. "What is it that you don't want from me?"

"For you to get scared. If we continue," he said.

She pouted. To think of it, pouting and offended and vexed with him - his little bookkeeper showing her temper was such a relief and such a difference to the crying and shaking terrified child of just half an hour ago! He wasn't sure how he managed to have pulled her out of her previous gloom - but this imperious combative side of hers was new - and so enthralling! Thorin unconsciously licked his lips.

"I know quite a lot about… this." She gestured around his bed. "I have been taught of what to avoid, of what men would want from me, and I should never allow," she drew out sarcastically. "Also, my friends spoke to me about the Dwarven customs surrounding such matters. And I've read a book."

Thorin suddenly felt merry.

"You read a book," he repeated, and she glared at him.

"Don't mock! A book is also the right way to go. And it wasn't just any book. I read _Shahnel Bakhan_."

"_Shahnel Bakhan_?!" Thorin barked a laugh. "The book is four hundred years old!"

"Unless the content of your trousers differs from the Dwarves of the Old, I don't see a problem here!" she barked back, and Thorin burst into a series of gleeful guffaws. She looked so indignant!

"Don't laugh at me!"

"I'm not laughing at you, my little one," he said through subsiding frolics. "I'm laughing at myself. I'm in bed with a bookwork who'd read an ancient tome about connecting physically! And who'd driven me into carnal frenzy just a few seconds ago and then tried to leave annoyed that I refused her."

"That's not what happened!" she exclaimed.

"Was it not?" he murmured and shifted closer to her on the bed.

"I wasn't… annoyed. I thought I've broken yet another rule just now." She cringed. "I seem to be doing so a lot tonight. But I wasn't trying… Wait, what do you mean by 'frenzy?' You hardly responded."

"I was being thoughtful," he said with a chuckle.

"Unnecessarily," she grumbled, and he gave out another laugh.

"My heart, the tradition is to wait till we are married. Lying together before it isn't prohibited, to say frankly, but it's not advised."

"Because of the possibility of a child, I know," she said. She wasn't looking at him, and her cheeks flamed up. "Because one doesn't want a woman to bear a child, then one of the betrothed to change their mind and marry another thus creating a complicated family situation. Since the Khazad use no preventive measures."

"There are too few of us for preventive measures," Thorin pointed out, and she nodded. Her gaze was still lowered to her hands. "While bearing half-siblings poses the danger of crossing bloodlines."

"But I'm not a Dwarf!" she blurted out. "And neither am I going to change my mind."

Her face flew up, and he saw her nose twitch in its usual nervous gesture.

"But that's not what I meant when I said I was being thoughtful. Last time we came together, and it went further than a few kisses, I scared you."

He did remember how pale and terrified she'd looked when he'd lowered his body onto hers in his study. She'd thrashed and asked him to stop.

"I- I have been- treated cruelly," she stumbled, "Of course your body scares me. But I grow more familiar with you every day. And my fear won't go away simply because we sign a paper," she scoffed. "It'll take time and... practice."

"So, that's what it was? Practice?" he teased, and her delicious lips once again folded in a stubborn line.

"Clearly, I misjudged," she said sardonically and started sliding off his bed. "I can see now, my 'sparring' efforts have been unwelcome."

He knew she was the one teasing now since her 'escape' was so very slow, so he assumed him grabbing her around her waist and pulling her back onto the bed wouldn't be unwanted.

He still needed to ask for consent, so when she flopped back on the bed and oophed, he met her eyes and smiled at her.

"Your efforts are always welcome, my heart. Are mine welcome now?"

She gave him a long look, and he saw the corners of her mouth tremble in a smile.

"They are," she whispered.

Thorin leaned and placed a slow intentional kiss on her lips. They indeed drove him mad! They were soft, warm, and the rich red colour enticed him! She didn't need any rouge, which he'd recently understood he disliked tasting in a kiss. His little bookkeeper wore none, and he so much enjoyed her unmuddled taste.

"I need you-" she exhaled into their slow busses. "I need to feel we're close, that I haven't- haven't damaged our love. I'm so very sorry-"

"Don't be," he repeated his words from before. "It's all dealt with now. You're here now."

"And you are here too." She wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled, while falling back.

He followed her.

"I want you here. I enjoy you… here." She pointed at the bodies - his on top of her, between her legs. "I'm not scared."

"Good," he murmured and started kissing her neck.

"And I'm not trying to prove anything," she said. "I just… I'm in a frenzy too."

He chuckled and pulled at her collar. More of her beautiful marble skin showed, and he tasted her collarbone and then shoulder.

"Good," he said without really paying attention to their conversation.

He was much more interested in his and her actions. He could feel, first, her delicate waist, and then her mouth-watering bosom under his palm. She was arching on the bed, and her legs went around him. Clearly, conversing wasn't a priority for either of them.

"Please..." she moaned. "Open it..."

"Open what?" He once again wasn't listening. She was cool, and light, and moving, breathing, responding to his caresses, and his head swam, and all he knew at the moment was the hunger, and the exhilaration of how kindred she was, how she _belonged_ to him.

"The lacing," she exhaled.

She sounded out of breath, and he saw her hand thrash on her chest. She grabbed the cut of her dress and jerked. It turned out the bodice was a panel, held by several pins, and they snapped, and scattered. She pulled the flap aside, and he saw a ribbon laced on the front, holding the dress together.

"Please," she whined.

The ribbon was silken, and it slid through and out of the loops with an unexpectedly loud hiss. Or perhaps the two of them were so quiet, focused on it. He threw the ribbon aside, and she suddenly moved and sat up. And then she pushed the top of the dress off her, and started wiggling and moving, and twisting.

"What..." he muttered, and then realised she was unbuttoning the skirts on her back.

And then she flailed her arms, grabbing something, and lurching. And suddenly - he wasn't prepared for it because through all her labours he was watching her graceful shoulders and her delicious breasts under a thin undertunic - she pushed the dress off the bed. And then she was pressed into him flush, and her hot greedy mouth was on his.

"Please, Thorin… Please, my love… More..."


	52. Back in the Saddle

**I'm back! **

**I sincerely apologise for disappearing, my lovelies! I truly do. The last few months have been quite an adventure, and I don't mean a thoroughly fun journey in a company of thirteen Dwarves and a Wizard. I went through quite a high high, and a reeeeeally low low in the past two months - and here I am back on my hobbyhorse of Thorin Oakenshield fanfiction :D **

**(A bit of) jokes aside, I feel like I've gone through some sort of emotional/mental/spiritual transformation. I'll be writing more about it on my blog, so keep in touch! In the foreseeable future, I'll be going back to writing my cosy mystery on Wattpad and working on publishing **_Blind Carnival_**, but I decided that this story you're reading right now will be the first to be updated. So as soon as I found (having finally figured out a functional schedule for my previously overly cluttered life) a free evening, I sat down with Thorin and Eorwyn. Well, they are _lying down_, to be precise, but anyway... :P**

**On this note, I vow to you, my duckies, to go back to updating often and having fun doing so! In the the next few chapters, I'll be putting more personal stuff in my author's notes. Feel free to skip them... or alternatively, visit my Wattpad and my blog for more Thorin/John + Wren goodness :D**

**Love,**

**Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

The woman in his arms was breathing laboriously and writhing, and Thorin understood that a decision had to be made immediately. He could let her get what she wanted, and her intentions were quite obvious. Her back was arched, and her centre was pressed to his - now straining - member through just a few thin layers of her undergarments and his trousers. Or, he could try to stop her, but that could offend her again. He understood why she'd been upset earlier, he wouldn't have taken rejection well as well. There was a definite allure in how she pursued him at the moment, at how open she was about her desire for him, despite her insecurity and her fear to break Dwarven customs pertaining to such acts. Saying 'nay' to her again would wound her, and the more she kissed him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, the less firm his assurance grew. She'd been right, after all. They were to be married. Lying together before the ceremony wasn't unheard of. And then she hiked up her leg, the voluminous white underskirts slid down, bearing the tops of her stocking - and there was no assurance left at all.

"Thorin..." she whispered. He could see her clouded eyes and burning cheeks.

Those were the clumsy stifled movements of her right hand - she'd unbuttoned his doublet and was blindly trying to get under the waistcoat while devouring his mouth - that reminded him that it wasn't just the union of bodies that he craved in their affiliation. She was Eorwyn, his brave little survivor, who'd walked across a frozen lake to get to him. As flattered as he was by her passion, he needed to preserve her honour. She was to become his Queen!

"If you try to be clever and sensible right now, I'll kick you," she suddenly whispered hotly in his ear, and he jerked back and stared at her.

"Do you-" he started.

"I want to spend a night with you," she said firmly, looking into his eyes. "I want to know you carnally. I am sober and it's not a maneuver to smooth out our recent disagreement. I don't know what other arguments I could bring up for you to see I understand what I'm doing."

"Have you ever seen a male organ before?" Thorin asked, hoping he was saying exactly the _right_ things to show she indeed had no idea. "Do you know that there will be pain?"

She frowned but he could still feel how relaxed her body was in his embrace.

"There _might_ be pain," she corrected him. "According to the books."

"I truly don't think that reading a book can prepare you for it, my heart," he repeated his argument from a few minutes ago, this time without any jest.

"Have you had a lot of experience in it?" she asked.

"You know I do not," Thorin said, feeling slightly irked. "I'm a Dwarf. There had been caresses and… dalliances, but never more."

"Then _you_ don't know what to expect either. You're just trying to be uppity with me to scare me off," she said. "You're hiding behind the customs to avoid making this step."

"But there is a reason why it's customary to wait-" Thorin said, only to be interrupted again.

"Nothing will change after the ceremony. There will be you and I, in the same circumstances, bare and between the sheets, and then what your excuse will be?" She pouted.

Thorin gave her an irritated look.

"An excuse for what?"

"For not bedding me."

"I'm not looking for an excuse. I'm protecting your honour!"

"Will someone ask?" she said sharply.

"Ask what?" He was growing angered by her sophisms.

"Whether we have done it already. Will anyone at any point of time ask you if I'm pure?"

"It's not something that the Khazad concern themselves with. A woman's body is her own. It's the parentage of a child that-" Thorin said.

"Aye, aye," she interjected and made a scoffing noise. "And are you intending to father children with someone else? Say, if we happen to conceive your child tonight, will it be such a disaster?"

Thorin didn't deem answering these preposterous questions necessary, and just gave her a sarcastic look from under a raised eyebrow.

"Then I say, you don't desire me as a woman," she blurted out.

"What?!"

"I'm as much as bare, and you've prevented our union from happening three times by now." She shrugged as much as lying under him, one arm pressed into the bed, allowed her to shrug.

"You're being absurd," Thorin gritted through his teeth.

"You are being cold," she bit back.

Thorin decided the stubborn woman needed to be taught a lesson. He unceremoniously placed his hand over her breast and squeezed, gently of course. He expected a jerk or even a squeak. Instead she gave him a sardonic look - and her hand lay on his buckle! It clicked, and Thorin's whole body jolted.

The impossible woman giggled!

"Are you certain you want to tempt your fate, little one?" he growled.

"And what is the worst that can happen? You taking one of the many layers you're dressed in?" she sing-songed. "You're like a cabbage head!"

Thorin rose on knees above her, keeping their eyes locked. His doublet, then his waistcoat, and then the tunic and the undershirt flew behind him like a murder of crows.

She stopped laughing and gawked at his torso.

"Not so lippy now?" he asked and smirked. "I doubt you've seen and touched that many men without their shirts."

"No," she exhaled. "But if you were hoping to discourage me-" She sat up in a fluid movement and her cool palms lay on his chest. She splayed her fingers and licked her lips. "I'll have to disappoint you. I'm still not daunted."

"I don't want you to be daunted," he said, softening his tone.

"What _do_ you want?" she asked, tearing her gaze off her own hands. He threw a glance and was stricken by the contrast of her beautiful long fingers, pale and delicate, and the rough hair and the scars on his skin.

"I want you to… have no regrets in the morning," he said.

She gave out a silver laugh.

"If we continue this slowly, by the time the morning comes, I'll have nothing to regret for certain, my lord," she said flirtily.

He pressed his hands in her shoulders and pushed her backwards, gently, but making sure that she felt a small jerk. She landed with an 'ooph' and laughed throatily.

"It's always a battle of minds with you," Thorin grumbled, grabbed the buckled she'd opened, and pulled his belt out of the loops. "You're timid and unsure one moment, and then-"

She lay under him, her knees spread wide, her bosom heaving above the corset. The undertunic was open, and he could see the tops of her tender hills. His mouth watered.

"And then what?" she murmured. She stretched her hands to him, and he pushed his trousers down. Her eyes widened.

"And the next moment you're driving me mad with your seductive flirtations."

"I've seen male organs before," they spoke at the same time. She then looked up into his face and added, "But I'd never _enjoyed_ the view before."

"Has anyone ever… touched you, my heart?" he asked softly.

She was back to staring at his nether regions.

"Eorwyn..."

"No, I've had nothing. Nothing worth remembering and bringing into our bed," she said and shook her head.

"Strictly speaking this is _my_ bed," he murmured and lay down next to her body, trying not to weigh on her.

"Would you like me to vacate it?" she feigned nonchalance.

And then all of a sudden the world tilted, and he was on his back, and she sat on top of him. Her hot centre pressed over his member - and now there were two garments of thin gauze left between them - and he gulped air with an open mouth.

"So, how about that?" she drew out. "Should I go back to my narrow, cold, maiden bed?"

"Don't you dare," he snarled, and she laughed again, salaciously, dropping her head back.

"That's what I thought."

She squirmed, and he spat out a swearing.

"I have seen quite a few men in the state of undress, to be honest," she murmured and her hands wandered his chest. "Merchants, guards, in common bathrooms and barracks... And remember, I've pretended to be a boy for many years." She tilted her head and puckered her lips as if choosing a piece of pie on a platter. "Meanwhile, if we speak of touching a man..."

"Aye, please," he said.

She snickered, and mimicked walking with her fingers. Her little 'walkers' were heading South, by the way. She brushed the tips of her fingers to his stomach and hummed, it seemed, approvingly.

That was the moment when Thorin Oakenshiled discovered he was ticklish.

He snorted and caught her left hand. "Where do you think you're heading, my little hen?"

"Here," she chirped gleefully, picked up the strings on his breeches with the other hand, and pulled deftly.

He couldn't say he had any objections.


	53. Sweet and Perfect Union

**_Author's Note:_**

**Just as promised, the story is now bearing the mature rating, but just as the plot dictates, it's all going to be very much vanilla :) So, here's some sugar, my lovelies... and then we will get back to having an actual plot :D**

**Love you, my duckies!**

**Cheers xx **

**Katya**

_Then, many years ago, when she'd come the closest to harm, when the body of that man weighed on hers, and his hands grabbed and hurt and mashed her, and the open buckle of his trousers cut into her thigh, she felt his flesh touch hers. It burnt her, and terror flooded her. She knew - she felt with every fibre of her being - that it was nothing but ruin, and pain, and malice. She thrashed, and fought, and scratched, and screamed. She couldn't see it, she only felt more and more pressure… and then the man whom she later was told to call Uncle barged into the room, and his sons followed, and they grabbed her assailant and pulled him away. She saw his face twisted in rage and fear, and they dragged him along the floor, and she caught glimpses of his bare skin, his thighs and something else. And she started crawling away, looking for a way out, and someone touched her - compassionately, as she learnt later - and she screamed and bit the hand and realised that there was already blood in her mouth because she'd bitten the assailant as well. She'd see his torn ear that never healed properly later on when he passed her in the village, his face stone cold, as if she was unfamiliar to him, and she felt proud._

Eorwyn simply couldn't believe it but there was nothing daunting in looking at a half-bare male, touching him, feeling his hot straining member under her centre. She'd untied the lacing on the waist of his breeches, and the fly piece fell open, and she could see the thick dark hair surrounding the base of his organ. And then she moved lower, onto his thighs, and his phallus sprung out. Eorwyn stared at the flesh, darkened from inside by the blood rushing to it. It was thick, smooth - and beautiful.

"My heart-" he started speaking - and choked on his words when she stretched her hand and brushed the tips of her fingers along the length, up from its root.

"It's so warm," she whispered.

"I can't ask you to-" he started speaking again, but Eorwyn realised she wasn't at all interested in having a conversation with him right now.

The skin of the King Under the Mountain was of the most beautiful warm colour, and a wide strip of coarse hair ran down his stomach. There was hair on his chest, black mixed with silver, and scars peppered his torso. He was loudly male, and strong, and scorching - and Eorwyn as much as moaned from the pleasure of looking at him.

She just couldn't get enough of touching him either: his arms, the chest, the stomach, and then once again her hand lay on his member, and then she encircled it. The tips of her middle finger and her thumb didn't meet. She slid the palm up and down, enjoying the hotness in her palm.

"Mahal, be merciful..." he rasped out.

Eorwyn stopped. "Have I done it wrong? The book said to squeeze and move."

"Mahal help me, she read a book!" The bark of laughter that erupted out of him sounded almost like a sob. His eyes were squeezed tightly. "You'll be the death of me..."

He opened his eyes and tenderly picked up her hands. The thumbs brushed her knuckles, and Eorwyn tingled head to toe from the affection in his gesture. Her skin felt warm, as if powdered with sunlight.

"It'll be different than in a book," he said. His eyes laughed.

Eorwyn snorted. "I do hope so. It sounded quite… insipid," she drew out.

He guffawed.

"I feel nothing but insipid at the moment," he murmured.

He shifted and then sat up in one strong fluid movement. The angle changed, and she gasped from the overwhelming sensation of being pressed into him. His nose was right in front of her, and she smiled at him widely.

"I can't wait," she whispered, and he smiled as well, and then he shook his head good-naturedly.

"Let's see to it then," he murmured.

He picked up the ribbon laced through the front of her corset, and pulled, and it opened and fell. She drew a deep relieved breath.

"Hm, now I see the purpose of it," he said.

She followed his gaze and looked down at her chest.

"Oh," she exhaled. "Aye, now you know the true size."

Mistress Algun had suggested the undergarment seamstress to Eorwyn, and the corset that Eorwyn wore under her formal dresses did indeed improve the looks of her modest bosom in the low cuts. Now, just as she said, the truth was obvious.

"I've seen you with less," the King jested. "When I met you, you wore bindings."

Eorwyn gave him a glance trying to see if he was disappointed. He didn't seem to be. He leaned and pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder through the undertunic, and then hooked his finger to its collar and pushed it down, off the shoulder.

"You are so sweet," he murmured, and his lips danced on her neck and collarbone.

He picked up the hem and took the garment off her. All that was left on her body was a gauzy sheath and her bloomers.

"Please, tell me what you think," she said in a small voice, and he lifted his face and met her eyes.

"I'm most definitely _not_ thinking at the moment," he said, his eyes squinted in jest, little crinkles running near the corners. He then tilted his head and studied her. "What are you about, my love?"

"I'm… thin," she said in an embarrassed voice. "Like you said once, there is no meat on my bones. And all those Dwarven women have… curves. And..." She sighed and pressed her face into his shoulder. "I wish you enjoyed seeing me. I wish you enjoyed what you'll see when..."

"I enjoy your looks," he said, and she felt his hand brush at the back of her head. "It is no matter that you're thin and no Dwarf."

"Is it truly?" she asked in disbelief and peeked.

He smiled at her again.

"I enjoy seeing you because I can see the desire in you clearly," he said. "When you heat up and look greedy and mad, that's what I enjoy." He chuckled and gently cupped her left breast. The thumb caressed her peak, and she moaned. "And I do enjoy these," he murmured and kissed her neck.

His mouth was hot and demanding, and she felt him suck and nibble. The already familiar pull in her lower stomach was now so sharp that she shifted her hips, seeking release.

"Would you like to stay on top, my heart?" he asked. "You seem to have been quite pleased to have me pinned down."

Eorwyn laughed, and then wrapped her legs around him, and rolled over, pulling him on top of her.

"Alright then," he said, with a laugh as well.

He helped her out of the sheath, and she somehow didn't worry about her angular self, and her small teats, and the bony hips and legs - because he was caressing, and kissing, and seemed to be everywhere at once, and her head spun, and she felt as if liquid and pliant but also vast and strong and smouldering.

And then he pulled her bloomers off, and she saw him push his breeches off. He rose above her on his elbows, and she opened her knees. No fear came. She was like a flow of melted stone that she once saw run out of a firemountain. She exhaled and lifted her hips seeking him. And he pressed into her, and he moved ahead, and she did as well, to meet him, to take him, and to give herself.

His flesh slid into her, without meeting resistance, filling her with flame and pleasure, and she arched and groaned and her hands fisted around the sheets.

And he jerked, with a coarse groan, and his member twitched - and jumped out of her. Her eyes flew open, and she stared at him. He frowned, and his lips moved probably in a silent curse, and he looked so grumpy and so much like his usual self, the Thorin she knew and loved so much, that Eorwyn burst in the most gleeful laughter of her life.

"What-" he started in an irked voice.

"Oh shush you!" she said, and he gawked at her…

…. and she pulled him down and to her with her legs, and her arms went around his neck, and he stumbled, but she caught him, and let him in, and as much as led his body into hers. There was an obstacle there for a second, and she squeezed her eyes, breathing through the sharp pain. It was gone quickly, and he was already moving, in long forceful thrusts, and she exhaled and relaxed. And then immediately her body went taut, because she didn't want to miss a single sensation, and she wanted all of him and all of their love, and her body sang!

And then his movements stuttered, and then he thrust even more roughly, and she screamed, because nothing was sweeter and deeper and more beautiful than this union - and then he froze and shook, and she felt heat spill inside her.

And then he moaned, and his back arched - and then his body slumped, and he fell on her. And she remembered from the book that it meant that he had achieved his rapture, and that she now carried his seed in her, and she smiled, and her fingers trailed into the hair at the back of his head. She rubbed her temple to his and hummed in perfect content.

"It'll be better next time," he said in a raspy voice, his face pressed into the covers near her head. "Longer… and more pleasurable for you."

Eorwyn burst into loud belly laughs, and he pushed up to look at her.

"You have a lot to learn about a woman's body, my lord," Eorwyn murmured, breathless from her frolics, "if you think any pleasure for me was lacking."

"You don't know it either. I bet we can do better," he said, and Eorwyn just couldn't watch his serious determined face without giggling! The man was delightfully unaware of how blissful he made her feel!

"Well, if you insist," she said with a shrug, and then rose a bit, and kissed the tip of his nose.

"I do insist," he said and kissed with much more fervour that she had - and she realised it was a prelude.

And then she confirmed to herself that it indeed was - and that his member was regaining its fervour as well. She felt the silky tip press into her, and he rocked his hips, spurring his arousal, and she once again opened herself to him in sweet anticipation_._

_End of Part V_


	54. Not So Secret Anymore

_**Author's Note: I apologise for my long absence, but life happened. First, I got sick (I work with babies. I'm constantly sick :P ), then I passed the bug onto all my family members, and then it came back to me with vengeance. Nonetheless, here I am, and here are two chapters to compensate for the lack of updates. Don't miss the next chapter.**_

**_Also, if you want to read about Thorin and Wren in steampunk universe, head to my Wattpad. The name is Katya Kolmakov. I hope you enjoy the adventures there! _**

**_Love you all ardently!_**

**_K. K._**

* * *

_Part VI_

The woman shifted and sighed, her warm breath brushing at his bare shoulder.

"I should go," she murmured.

He felt her lips press to his skin. She was surprisingly cuddlesome and free and generous in her caresses for a maiden. He had been worried that her old wounds of the heart would prevent her from enjoying their love - and he was delighted at how openly she expressed her passion for him.

"You should stay," he whispered, turned, and pulled her into him.

Her smooth silky body pressed into his, and he saw a smile on her red lips. He so very much enjoyed the lips - and the rest of the said body. They'd come together thrice. He felt sated now, but it didn't mean he wanted her out of his bed.

"Stay," he whispered again and kissed her - and then again, and again.

"I can't. We'll be discovered."

She placed a quick light kiss on his lips and started edging away from him on the bed. He stretched and grabbed her.

"It's not yet morning," he whispered.

"Exactly. And I still have many passages to sneak through to get back to my chamber."

She shimmied her shoulders, and as much as he wanted her close, he released her. She sat up on the bed and started rummaging in the covers, probably looking for her garments. He knew that her bloomers were on the floor near the bed. He remembered throwing them there, in a rush, impatient to divest her of anything that hid her from him. He let her keep searching, to prolong her presence for at least a few moments.

She found the bloomers and leaned over the edge of the bed to pick them up. Her perky backside was now on full display, and Thorin couldn't help it and cupped her small warm buttock. She giggled, and her dishevelled head showed up. She'd also found her sheath, and the corset, and the dress, and held the heap of clothes in her hands.

"I suddenly feel bashful," she said quietly. "It's quite dim of me, isn't it? We've just spent so much time together, bare, and now I feel like hiding myself from you."

He smiled at her tenderly.

"I can close my eyes if it puts you at ease, my little hen." He covered his eyes with his hand, and then opened the fingers and peeked at her. "Would you like me to?"

She giggled. The silver sound tickled his hearing.

"I think it's time to accept you've seen all of me," she said, blushing now.

"And enjoyed every little bit of you," he murmured, and then leaned, and kissed the closest part he could reach. It was her round pink knee. Another giggle followed.

She dressed hastily, and he sat up, sighed, and leaned back against the headboard.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked, while she was buttoning her underskirt twisting her neck to see. "It's Nadram tomorrow. The Day of Courtship. We could once again meet for breakfast in the abandoned watch tower," he added, enticingly.

She looked at him over her shoulder. Her lashes fluttered in a charming flirtatious gesture.

"I assume we are to spend at least a bit of time together tomorrow," she murmured. "It's time to admit we can't be considered simple acquaintances now. Not after what we-" She didn't finish and pointed at the crumbled sheets with her eyes.

He suddenly remembered how she arched on the bed under him with a lustful greedy groan, her body taut like a bow string, her arms stretched straight above her head. They were indeed more than acquainted now. He smirked.

"Indeed." He leaned ahead and stretched his hand to her. "Come, my heart, let's say our goodbyes."

She barked a short throaty laugh.

"Will you let me go if our goodbyes happen to be to your liking, my lord?" He delighted in a cheeky smile she was giving him.

"I will try," he said, and she laughed again.

"Perhaps, we should just say, 'see you at breakfast,'" she drew out feigning pensiveness.

"I promise to try," he attempted to cajole.

"Oh I'm sure you will try," she said. "But you see, my lord-" She climbed off the bed but came up to him and bent and her bright eyes were right in front of his. "I will definitely fail."

She quickly kissed his lips, picked up her cloak from the floor, and rushed to the door.

"Vixen," he called after her and heard a quiet laugh.

The door closed behind her, and he slid down the bed. He was asleep before his head touched the pillow.

* * *

The next day he woke up in the most excellent mood - and then he remembered why. He pushed the covers off him and was going to jump out the bed when he saw a red stain on the sheet. It was small, the size of a coin. He assumed no one would heed it important. After all he often bled himself, from the scrapes and bruises received during sparring. He washed, dressed, and called for his breakfast.

Nyr shuffled into the room with a tray.

"My lord," he greeted Thorin and slowly started serving. Thorin tapped his fingers on the table impatiently.

"Have another basket packed for me, Nyr," he said. "Like the other day."

"Aye, my lord," the servant answered indifferently. "Lord Balin has been, my lord."

"Has been what?" Thorin grumbled, drinking his coffee in big gulps. It was too hot, but he was in a hurry.

"He has visited your rooms earlier this morning." The servant was now putting butter on a slice of bread - excruciatingly slowly. "He asked to let him know when you wake. Said he needed to talk to you first thing in the morning."

"Well?" Thorin asked irritated. "Why don't you send for him? I can butter my own bread."

"As you wish, my lord," Nyr once again feigned his favourite subservient tone. He slowly put the knife down, wiped his hands on the napkin tucked in the pocket of his doublet, and headed for the door.

Thorin finished his coffee - and burnt his tongue - and the rest of his breakfast by the time Balin entered the parlour. Thorin had no appointments for that morning. He wasn't formally betrothed or courting, and traditionally the day was to be filled with activities with one's beloved. Except Thorin had a beloved! And she was probably waiting for him in the guard room in the forges! The old man needed to hurry up!

"Well, laddie..." Balin drew out, grinning from ear to ear.

"Morning," Thorin said pointedly, as if asking. Hopefully, the Dwarf would get the hint and start talking already.

"How are you faring this morning?" Balin said, tucking his thumbs behind his golden belt. Thorin drew a breath, calling to his Ancestors to grant him patience.

"I'm well. Is there something you needed?"

The old man sniggered. Thorin gritted his teeth.

"You, my lad, have been caught red-handed," Balin said with another annoying chuckle. "Well, not personally you, but your… accomplice."

"What are you about?" Thorin could just imagine her sitting in that room, dangling her feet - her delicious little feet. And there were also those round knees, under the tall stockings.

"A woman was seen sneaking away from your rooms, laddie," Balin finally deemed it worthy to speak openly.

Thorin turned sharply, immediately abandoning his daydreaming, now, of the bookkeeper's shoulders and breasts.

"What?"

"Aye. Last night, a woman was seen leaving your chambers, in the early hours of the morning. She wore a dark blue cloak, and her hair was said to be the colour of gold. That's now the talk of the whole Mountain."

Thorin sat silently, his mind quickly going through the steps that needed to be taken. First things first, he needed to talk to his bookkeeper.

Balin laughed. "So much for keeping it under wraps."

"We thought you might have guessed," Thorin grumbled.

"I've known you long enough, Thorin. You are different around her," Balin said. "And she can hide nothing. The way her face lights up when she sees you!"

"Will you prepare the contract?" Thorin asked.

It was a relief, to think of it. They didn't need to hide anymore. She had asked him to wait, and he had been prepared to - but now they could just announce it.

"Will you still want the usual Indenture? The lady is no Dwarf after all."

"Aye, I want all the usual proceedings. She is to become my Queen in full."

"Good, good," Balin nodded approvingly. "Very good. I'm happy for you, Thorin."

Suddenly Thorin's irritation was gone, and he got up and stretched his hand to Balin.

"Thank you." He felt affection towards the old Dwarf flood his heart.

They shook hands, and then embraced cordially. When they parted, he noticed tears in the old Dwarf's eyes.

* * *

He was walking towards the forges through passages so preoccupied with his own circumstances that at first he didn't notice the dancing and singing around him. It was the Surmel Okhril, the revel of the young men who wished to find a bride. They walked around the Mountain, singing and dancing, sometimes showing their skill as warriors. Some fenced and sparred, all in good jest, but still trying to impress the young maidens they met on their way. Both the participants of the parade and their most attentive viewers were mostly either hardly of age, or not yet old enough for real courtship. Thorin remembered Dis going to watch the Surmel Okhril in the days of their youth. He himself hadn't had a chance to participate in such frivolous endeavours.

The lads cheered when they saw him, bows and greetings followed. A few were his kin, and he smiled and patted a few shoulders.

"Fancy to join them?" a merry voice came from behind him.

He turned and saw Dwalin who'd been clearly going somewhere on his own business and also had gotten stuck in a passage surrounded by the crowd.

"Too late for us, isn't it?" Thorin shouted back. By then the merrymakers had grown loud again. A few younglings were imitating a fist fight, and others cheered.

"Heard it's about time for you." Dwalin grinned. "All they chinwagged about this morning at the grounds is how Lady Turith is soon to join you in your Halls. For good, they say, no need for her to flee in the morning."

Thorin stood stunned, while young Dwarves sang and danced around him.

* * *

**Don't miss the next chapter! ;)**


	55. The Beasts of the Past

**_Author's Note: I'm posting two chapters today, this is 2/2. Don't miss the previous one!_**

**_Love xx_**

**_K. K._**

* * *

_Earlier that night…_

Eorwyn slowly closed the door behind her, praying to Maiar it didn't squeak; but when she turned to the room she realised there was no need to be quiet. Her companions weren't asleep - at least not Nis. Ada was snoring, her head on her arms folded on the table. Nis had a book in front of her and a candle that now wasn't much more than a very short stump.

"Wake up, you clot! She's here!" Nis barked and poked Ada's shoulder.

The second maiden flailed her arms, muttering something in Khuzdul, and then she saw Eorwyn.

"Oh! You're back!"

"Where have you been?!" Nis hollered. "We were worried sick!"

"She was worried sick," Ada said pointing at her friend with her thumb. "I kept telling her you're with your Dwarf, and having a much better time than us. But she didn't let me go to bed, and–"

"Stop your blathering!" Ada hissed at her. "Let her speak!"

Eorwyn stood, her head pressed in her shoulders, not sure what to say.

"Well?" Nis said forcefully.

"Stop frightening her!" Ada shook her head. "She looks terrified. She thinks you're angry with her."

"I'm not angry! I thought– I thought– something happened, and–" Nis sniffled, and Eorwyn saw how red her eyes were. "We didn't know where you were, and she kept saying all these preposterous things, and I know you would never spend a night with a man–"

"I spent the night with a man," Eorwyn blurted out and winced away from her friends.

"Oh..." said Nis.

"Oh!" said Ada at the same time. "How was it?!" she bellowed an instant later.

"Wait, what?" Nis found her voice again. She jumped to her feet and came up to Eorwyn. "Are you… alright?"

"Aye," Eorwyn said blushing furiously.

She _was_ alright. She was tired, something inside her felt sore, but she was… alright. More than alright, if she were to be honest. She was utterly and completely happy. A beaming smile spread across her lips, seemingly against her will.

"Oh Mahal be merciful," Nis muttered. "She did spend a night with a man..."

"And she _enjoyed_ it," Ada chimed in and giggled.

"Oh goodness me. The world has gone mad," Nis said and shook her head.

Such was the astonishment on her face that Eorwyn couldn't help but burst into snickers. Ada followed, and then slowly Nis as well. Soon all three of them were roaring with laughter.

"Mahal help me, I need to sit down," Nis headed to the table.

Eorwyn followed. She suddenly felt so exhausted that her knees shook.

"Don't think me meddling, little bird, but I was just so worried," Nis said and gave Eorwyn an embarrassed look. "You didn't come back with us, and then it was getting so late, and then it was getting early, and–"

"Oh who cares!" Ada exclaimed and waved her hands at her friend. "I want to know everything."

"As if!" Nis returned to her usual protective manner. "Leave her alone." She turned to Eorwyn again. "You don't have to tell us anything–"

"Sure, spoil all the fun," Ada muttered in the background.

"But you will let us know if something is… wrong, please?" Ada gave Eorwyn an emotional look. "If you need help. Or there's something– Or if you need to see a healer."

Eorwyn nodded.

"You did want it, didn't you?" Nis asked suddenly, and her face twisted in unease. "I'm not prying, Eorwyn, we just want to know you're being safe, and–"

"I did want it," Eorwyn whispered. "And you mustn't worry. It was… wonderful. And I don't need a healer. I knew what I was doing."

Nis exhaled in relief.

"Oh I'm dying to ask–" Ada whined, but when Eorwyn looked at her, she could see that the Dwarven maiden was just as relieved as her friend.

"She's dying to ask if _he_ knew what he was doing." Nis huffed in exasperation.

Eorwyn giggled.

"Ignore the clot," Nis added.

"Bah! Poo-face!" Ada stuck her tongue at Nis. She then smiled at Eorwyn. "I am dying to know, but I did worry too."

"Thank you," Eorwyn grabbed the hands of the both girls from the table and squeezed them gently.

An emotional moment made her eyes sting, and she sniffled.

"Well, that's enough of this," Nis said in a few seconds, and the other two girls nodded. "Go to bed, little bird."

Eorwyn rose and as much as she tried she couldn't hide a small wince. Both her friends noticed.

"Don't even open your mouth!" Nis glared at Ada. "She'd had an eventful night. Let her be."

"Oh you just wait, I'll be telling everyone everything when it's _my_ morning after!"

Ada snorted and made a funny face behind Nis' back at Eorwyn. When Nis disappeared behind her door, Ada rushed back to Eorwyn.

"Don't be scared, I'm not asking anything," she quickly whispered. "But judging by what I read about what you'd just gone through, you'd like a bath."

"Oh thank you," Eorwyn exhaled, and the girl tenderly patted her shoulder.

"I'll warm up some water for you, and leave it on the stove, and you come and pick it up in half an hour." She looked Eorwyn over and then suddenly hugged her tightly. "I'm so happy that you're safe and back, little bird. And I'm happy for you. You look radiant."

She quickly kissed Eorwyn's cheek and rushed to the back room, probably, to fetch some water. Eorwyn exhaled a shaky breath and walked to her room.

* * *

The next morning Eorwyn had trouble waking up. She could hear the hour bell in the square under her window, but she just wanted to stay under her blanket, in the warmth, and in the memories of her sweet, sweet dream. And then she remembered it wasn't a dream. She shifted on the bed, and a tug of hardly noticeable ache between her legs reminded her of the previous night. And then she remembered that she was supposed to meet the King for breakfast. And then she remembered how he had been kissing between her breasts, and then his warm lips had travelled down her stomach, and then his tongue had circled her navel...

Eorwyn jerked, flailed her arms, and sat up. She stretched, feeling some muscles pull in her lower back and in her legs. All and all, her body felt both sweet and languished, and somehow almost unfamiliar. Nothing had changed, to think of, and yet she suddenly felt so different, and so exhilaratingly happy that she almost worried that someone might suspect something. What if Ada had been right the night before, and Eorwyn did look radiant? She then shook her head and laughed. What an absurd idea it was!

She was brushing her hair, when a knock came to her door.

"Morning," she greeted Nis who stuck her head in.

"Forgive me, little bird, with all this… hodgepodge last night, I forgot that a letter came for you. More of a note, really." She handed Eorwyn a small envelope. "Are you going out?"

"Aye," Eorwyn smiled at her.

"Alright, Ada will kill me if I don't ask. Are you going to meet up with your Dwarf?" Nis asked.

"Ask her if they are going to announce the azlâf! Now that they'd gone through the abkân!" Ada's voice came from the other room.

Nis rolled her eyes.

"You know what? Don't tell me anything. She deserves to suffer a bit," Nis said, gave Eorwyn a wink, and disappeared, closing the door behind her.

Still laughing, Eorwyn broke the seal on the envelope. At the last moment she'd noticed Master Iwar's crest on it.

_Master Eorwyn,_

_I trust this letter finds you in Erebor, and I hope it's not open by anyone but you. It pertains to a sensitive matter. Out of precaution I'll try to be vague._

_A man appeared in the city two days ago. He'd been asking around for you, and I invited him to dinner. I made sure he drank a lot and I made him talk. He seems to have a connection to your past, and he'd been rather vocal about it. _

_I didn't know how much of it was true, but the man seemed so vile and his intentions towards you so dishonest that I made a decision to lock him up._

_He's held in one of the merchant apartments, and he's under guard by one of my cousins, who's to be trusted to keep his mouth shut._

_I'll be waiting for your response, or hopefully, for your personal presence._

_With respect,_

_Master Iwar_

_P.S. The man's ring bears a crest - an animal and a bird clashing in a battle._

The letter slid out of Eorwyn's fingers. She opened her mouth, and tried to take a breath, again and again, but no air seemed to go into her lungs. Pain slashed across her stomach, and she floundered, and awkwardly slid off her chair, grabbing the edge of the table.

_When they'd given her to his service, she'd stood before the gates of his house and looked at the crest. There were an eagle and a bear, crudely cut out of a piece of wood, bared teeth and claws and talons. Her heart had been beating painfully in her chest. And every day she'd seen the same beasts on the ring on his finger. And when twenty moons passed, and she had become less of a child, but not yet a woman, he'd started stealing touches. She'd felt as if marred where he'd brush his fngers to her skirt or her back or her shoulder. And every time she'd winced away from his hand, she'd seen the bird and the beast, locked in a feral fight. And the day the man she had been later calling Uncle had taken her away from that house, beaten and terrified, she had curled in a ball in his cart and cried, and the last she'd ever seen of the man whom she saw in her nightmares so often ever since was the crest on the gates bearing an eagle and a bear._


	56. Filth and Dirt

Eorwyn sat on the floor her back pressed to her desk and… breathed. It was all she was capable of: letting air enter her lungs, and then slowly exhale. One, two, three… _Zu, nu, gemu, râmekh, _she hadn't noticed how she'd switched to Khuzdul. And then the tension in her chest ebbed slightly, and she let out a slow, deeper breath through her half-open lips.

_She was Eorwyn, the weightmaster, the emissary of the Dwarves of Erebor in the Trade Council of the Kingdom of Laketown and Dale, the future Queen Under the Mountain. _She couldn't just sit on the floor like a frightened child. She was _no child_ anymore. No one would come to protect her from that Man this time - and she didn't need anyone's protection. Eorwyn opened her eyes.

She grabbed the edge of her desk and pulled herself up. Her body ached, but she pushed through the pain. She put on her cloak and picked up her sachet. And then she remembered about the King. She quickly wrote a note and walked out of her room.

Thankfully, Ada and Nis had gone to the market already, and Eorwyn avoided meeting anyone familiar on her way to the guard's quarters. At the entrance she caught a squire and sent him for the two guards who'd accompanied her to Laketown previously and to take the note to the King. She'd waited for the guards in the parlour. Her mind was so determined, devising a plan for her next actions, that even the curious looks from the attendants didn't bother her.

The guards appeared, bewildered. One of them was probably intending to spend the day with his betrothed, and Eorwyn made a mental note to make amends to him later. At the moment she needed their presence, and she needed no questions to be asked. The two Dwarves seemed like the safest option. She informed them they were travelling to Dale urgently. The Dwarves exchanged looks, but just as she'd expected didn't dare questioning the order. One of them went back to the garrison to change into his armour, the second one left to arrange transport for them.

* * *

Eorwyn dismounted and entered the Town Hall. The clerk at the door jumped to his feet, and she sent him to fetch Master Iwar. While she waited, all she could do was to count her breaths.

"Master Eorwyn," the man greeted her with a polite bow.

Their eyes met.

"Shall we speak in my study?" Eorwyn said, making sure her voice was firm, especially around the word 'my.'

Iwar indeed was allowed to occupy her study in the Town Hall while she had been away in Erebor, but she hadn't relinquished her position yet. And he needed to know it.

"As you wish, Master Eorwyn," he said with another bow. "Or we could inspect that warehouse I've mentioned in my letter."

"Lead the way," Eorwyn said.

Iwar nodded. They left the building and started walking the narrow streets of Laketown. Eorwyn kept her back straight and walked as confidently as she could. She knew nothing of the situation she was walking into - and she always thought that assuming the worst was the safest.

"Where are we going?" Eorwyn asked when they were relatively alone in the street, except for the two Dwarven warriors marching behind them.

"I have the man held in one of the warehouses, in the Western docks. My cousin, a trustworthy lad, is keeping an eye on him," Iwar answered.

Eorwyn could feel his eyes on the side of her face, but she continued walking, keeping her gaze directed in front of her.

"Am I allowed to ask any questions?" Iwar asked with a low chuckle.

"Perhaps later," Eorwyn said. She knew she sounded haughty and cold, but the truth was she was so preoccupied - and terrified - at the prospect of seeing the Man again, she just couldn't summon enough strength to address anything else. "But I am grateful to you," she added and threw Iwar a quick side glance. "For… containing him."

"I wasn't quick enough, mind you," Iwar said and shook his head. "I think he had spent three days in the town before I snatched him. I'm sure there are rumours. And he–" He paused. "You'll see, I suppose, when you meet him, but he's making… certain statements about the nature of your relationship."

Eorwyn told herself that she just needed to see for herself. The sheer presence of that Man was a calamity enough. She just needed to 'take one blow of a pickaxe at a time' as the Dwarves said.

* * *

Iwar's cousin was a massive man of approximately twenty Springs of age. He had a round kind face and greeted her with a low respectful bow.

"Farman, son of Ric, my lady– lord," he muttered. "At your service."

"And I thank you for it," Eorwyn said.

If she didn't know that nothing in life was a good as it seemed, she would have liked and trusted the Man right away. Nonetheless, Eorwyn reminded herself that any service and friendship needed to be tested by time and hardships.

"Where's the man?" she asked Iwar, and he pointed at a door leading to a back room.

"We did feed him," he said with a lop-sided smirk. "Not too generously, but I wasn't sure whether you wanted him dead, so–" He shrugged and gave her a cheeky grin.

Eorwyn once again looked at him askance.

"I'll talk to him now," she said. "I'm taking my guards with me."

She was surprised how calm and even her voice was. Perhaps, she'd learnt to feign a tinge of that assurance she'd seen in King Thorin and his Dwarves.

Iwar responded with another nod. She squared her shoulders and stepped to the door. Farman unlocked a large bolt on it and opened it for her.

* * *

The Man looked just the same: a mane of thick black hair, heavy eyebrows above deep-seated eyes, a square heavy jaw. His cheeks and forehead were just as red, with scaly, scarred skin, from his 'wolf bite disease,' just as she remembered. He seemed shorter to her now, his head excessively large, perched on a thick neck, giving him the appearance of stubbornness and a disagreeable temperament.

He was standing his back pressed to the opposite wall, his jaw set, and his fists clenched. When he saw her, his snarl gained an even angrier tone.

"Ah, look who's finally showed up," he screeched.

She'd forgotten the raspiness of his voice. A shudder ran through her body.

"What are you doing here?" she said. Her voice wasn't shaking. 'Yet,' she thought.

"Make your guard dogs let me go, little mouse," he gritted through his teeth.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated.

"I'm locked up _here,_" he jeered. "I was drinking in a tavern, minding me own business, when that fellow of yours–" He pointed at the door behind Eorwyn. His gaze fell on Eorwyn's guards. "So it's true then? You've been rubbing shoulders with the Stunted ones." He barked a coarse chuckle.

The Dwarves behind Eorwyn shifted. She could hear the metal of their armour scrape.

"Iwar told me you've been looking for me. Why?" she asked.

"I wasn't looking for anybody," he said and bared his teeth in an ugly grin. "I came to the town, they'd told me it's the place to be these days. And then I heard of a girl from Men who apparently knows numbers so well that Kings hire her. And then they'd told me she used to dress like a lad. I'm not dim you know, I put two and two together."

"And then what?" Eorwyn asked.

"And then I thought we could help each other as old mates," he said and gave her a wink.

"No," she deadpanned, "I have no business with you."

"Ah you see, little mouse, here you're wrong. We have business together." He took a small step ahead and tilted his head. His dark gaze roamed her face. "I own you."

Eorwyn took a small breath in. She then looked at one of the guards over her shoulder.

"Hit him," she said.

The eyes of the Dwarf shifted in the slits of the helmet. _She had nothing to lose. She needed to seize control over the conversation. If the Dwarf didn't listen, she'd try Iwar and hope that she had enough authority or that he had no moral scrupulosity. If the guard did listen, she'd_–

She had no time to finish the thought, because the Dwarf grinned, muttered 'With pleasure' and stepped ahead. He placed a strong blow with the handle of his walking axe into the Man's stomach. The Man wailed, bent in half, and then fell on the floor.

"Shut your gob and listen," she said a few seconds later, when the Man's howling subsided a bit. "You are nothing. You're nothing to me. You're nothing in this town. You'll find no trade here, and if you stay here, you won't live to see another week. Some 'accidental' calamity will befall you, and it will be _unpleasant_," she pronounced purposefully, "And it will be _slow_. But I don't want the Men or the Dwarves to mar their hands on the filth like you. So I'm _allowing_ you to leave–"

"Bitch!" the Man spat out. He was sitting on the floor, and his chest rose in gasps. "I bought you then! You don't–"

"You're wrong, you _are_ dim," she interrupted.

She thought back at the negotiations she'd been present and she kept her voice quiet. 'Strength is rarely loud,' the Men of Gondor said, and they were right. King Thorin, for example, never raised his voice.

"You have a day to leave," she said.

He lifted his blood-shot eyes at her.

"I've heard you fool around, little mouse." His mouth twisted in a hateful grimace. "Men talk, you know. And I paid for their drink and they told me how you spread your legs for them Dwarves. I reckon they don't care that you're mine, but I paid for you. I bought you, and not as a servant. You're my wife, little mouse. I made sure to tell every Man who listened, so you know. I bought your body, and it's mine. Do your Dwarf swains know that? Or they don't care who lies under them?"


	57. Where Is She?

**Author's Note:**

**I know I keep appearing and disappearing (I'm sorry about that) but my little family (myself, my partner, our lovely kid, and two cats) have just finalised the purchase of our first house, and it's been such a crazy ride! My updates are all over the place, but I'm still writing, I promise. Please, be patient and stay tuned!**

**Love you all ardently,**

**Katya xx**

* * *

Thorin waited for his little bookkeeper for an hour, and then he rose from the bench in the guard room and left.

When he was walking the hallway near his study, a courtier caught up with him and handed him a note from her. Thorin thanked the Dwarf with a nod of his head and entered his study. He sat at his desk and quickly read. Her handwriting was uncharacteristically untidy.

_My lord,_

_I have to postpone our meeting. A situation arose in Dale that requires my immediate attention. I will ask for an audience with you as soon as I return, or will inform you of my news in a letter._

_Master Eorwyn_

Thorin twirled the note in his fingers, almost expecting to see more on its back. So, some business had taken her to Dale, and she had cancelled their breakfast. No explanation, no details had been given to him. She had told him before that she was unskilled at writing personal letters, but this note surely surpassed any other in its dryness of the tone and facelessness.

Thorin threw the parchment aside in irritation. He needed her to be here. They had a complicated situation on their hands, and they needed to discuss it and to address it.

A knock came to his door. One of the court secretaries, a young Dwarf maiden named Vara stuck her head in.

"My lord, Lady Turith is here to see you." The girl was pressing her lips to hide a smile. "Shall I invite her in?"

Thorin swallowed a curse.

"Aye, please."

The door closed, and he huffed air in irritation.

When the Dwarven maiden entered, he rose. She was accompanied by a matron who gave him a respectful old-fashioned bow and then took a seat on a settee by the wall, away from the desk.

"My lady Tuirth, how can I be of service?" Thorin asked.

The blonde still stood. He saw her wriggle her beautiful pale fingers.

"My lord, I'm not certain if you're aware–"

"I'm aware," he interrupted her an irked tone.

Her eyes widened.

"I came to assure you that I am not– I am not the source of the rumours," she said hotly. "I need you to know that."

"I never thought you were," he grumbled.

"I made a mistake last night, but I would never–" she continued her blathering, and he scoffed.

"My lady, your visit, as honourable as your intentions are, is unnecessary. I never suspected you'd start such a rumour. To be honest, I don't understand how you've gotten involved in this story altogether."

She stared at him for a few seconds.

"You truly don't, do you?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Yesterday, at the revels, your behaviour towards me was– _seemed_ indicative," she said quietly. "Which led to my… mistake." She cleared her throat. "I– I misinterpreted it, and I have asked for forgiveness for it, but I wasn't the only one. Several of my kin and friends commented on how you showed favour to me, how impassioned you seemed yesterday, so different from your usual self. And–"

She gave him an attentive look, but he felt there was nothing to be said.

"I have been carefully approached by a few today," she continued with a sigh. "All I could do is to continue assuring people that I in fact hadn't escaped your halls in the early hours of this morning. I do not see what else I could do."

"You don't _have_ to do anything," Thorin said. He felt more and more annoyed by her haughty manners and her sardonic remarks. "Rumours are born and die. They have no bearing."

"Very well, my lord. I'll leave you to your matters."

She gave him a nod and turned around to leave. Her chaperone followed. Thorin sat back at his desk. Lady Turith herself was of no consequence, but clearly he had caused some sort of a widespread misunderstanding in his court. Thorin jerked the collar of his doublet irkedly.

There wasn't much to be done. He needed Eorwyn's presence to discuss the matter and to proceed with fixing it - and she was apparently preoccupied with some matter in Dale! Surely, the Bargeman could last one day without her! And what could she possibly be doing there that was more important than a breakfast with her betrothed? Whatever Men needed could have waited! And then they wouldn't have ended in this vexatious ambiguity.

He worked on some parchments, or at least pretended to, and then pushed the papers away from him. Perhaps, if he went to the grounds and let off steam by breaking a few dummies, he'd feel less annoyed with the rumours - and the woman as well.

He was leaving his study, intending to go to his chambers to change, when a courtier once again approached him.

"Master Eorwyn is in the parlour, my lord. She's asking for an audience."

_Now she wants to see me_, Thorin thought irritated and sent the Dwarf to fetch her. He considered sitting back at his desk, but then changed his mind and just waited by the door.

It opened, and she rushed inside. He was so displeased by the current aggravation that he didn't even open his mouth to greet her - when her small body smashed into his and her arms went around his neck. She squeezed, and he felt her whole small self quake.

"Eorwyn?" he asked, immediately concerned.

"Maiar, I'm so– I just can't–" Her voice kept breaking, and then a sob fell from her lips.

"What is it?"

"He's here! He's here, and he's back, and I just–" She started crying loudly, and clawing at his shoulders, and then he heard her mumble, "Just let me cry– I can't– I was so scared–"

He pressed her into him tightly, and she cried and shook, and then she started sliding on the floor, and he picked her up in his arms. He could see she couldn't speak just yet, so he sat down, right where he stood, and held her.

Her weeping started to ebb, and she pressed her burning face into his neck.

"I'm sorry–" she started in a nasal voice.

"What's happening?" he interrupted sharply and felt her shrink away.

She was still sitting in his embrace, across his lap.

"I'm sorry, I'll calm down now– I just– I saw you and lost all my composure. I was going to tell you everything calmly, and I'd held myself together before, but just seeing you..."

She moved away. He saw red puffy eyes, miserable and frightened, and worry and tenderness squeezed his heart.

"What is wrong, my heart?" he asked softly, searching his face.

"I'd been brave, and I didn't want to get you involved, but then I realised I could do nothing, and–" She stopped herself and shook her head. "I'm not telling it right." She took a deep breath.

She finally lifted her face and met his eyes.

"I'm in trouble," she said quietly. "And I tried to solve it myself, because you're a King, and shouldn't be involved…" She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and firmly wiped her tears and her pink nose. "But then I realised I needed your help. As my King, not my lover," she added.

Despite his concern for her, Thorin smiled.

"I _am_ your lover," he pointed out.

"You're the person with power whom I trust," she said decisively. "If I could trust someone else in my life who could help me, I'd go to them." Her face twisted in distress. "I wish I could! I wish I could keep you out of this nasty matter."

"What is it, my love?"

All of his irritation had been gone by then. He could feel her small body soften in his arms, and he tightened the embrace. She sighed and dropped her eyes.

"The man from my past– The man who'd been– in whose house I lived a child… He's in Dale."

Thorin tensed.

"What?"

"He's in Dale. He'd been… detained. He'd arrived to the city two days ago, and had been spreading rumours about me, looking for me… One of the Men who'd been serving with me detained him. And I came to see him–"

"You did what?!" Thorin barked and she pressed her head in her shoulders. "Why would you do such a thing?!" he growled.

"I needed to see what was happening, and what he–"

"You needed to have come to me right away!" Thorin interrupted her with a shout, and she jerked in his arms. "Eorwyn," he softened his tone, "Why didn't you come to me at once?"

"Because I didn't know what the situation was," she said and threw him a cautious look. "And because I didn't want to get you implicated–"

"Implicated? I am implicated! It's your harrier we're talking about! Or one of them!" Thorin gritted his teeth.

"He is my harrier," she said quietly. "He _was_. I was sold into his house when I was six; and when I was twelve, I was… rescued from it. He'd never managed to inflict the horrors on me, the ones other girls in that house had sustained, but..."

"You were _sold_ to him?" Thorin couldn't believe his ears. He knew, of course, that Men had different customs and that atrocities happened in their dwellings. What made him recoil was how mundane her voice was.

She nodded and looked at her hands, clasped together.

"Aye, I was," she whispered. "He called us his wives, all the girls in his house." Her eyes flew up to his face. "He still says it. He'd told it to people in Dale..." She shook again, her eyes widening in panic. "I just walked out of that room. He spat those words, that I was his, that I belonged to him– that he _owned_ me. And I just– I wanted to kill him right there. And then I thought I needed to hide it from everyone… from you." She stared at him but then shook her head. "And then I thought of last night… Of how I'd doubted you. And how I'd doubted our love. And how I'd almost lost you. And I remembered that I promised– I _swore_ to you that I would never doubt our bond again. And I just told Iwar to keep him locked up and I came here." She suddenly smiled, through tears that ran her face unrestricted and with her quivering lips. "Because I trust you."


	58. Respite

**My darlings,**

**Thank you for your patience. If you're reading this chapter it means you've endured my frequent recent disappearances... and I'm grateful! And I'm BACK! We've moved into our new house, and I've even survived the first few weeks of the whole first-time-house-ownership madness, which included dealing with asbestos removal, the mysteries of ducting, and painting my first ever wall! :D And now I have my own studio (OK, I do share it with my techno composing partner, but I got a lot of space - and it's facing our large backyard, which means lots of sunlight for my painting and... squirrels!) **

**I'm hoping to get back to much more frequent updates - and lots of drama for these two lovebirds. Stay tuned!**

**Love you xx**

**K. K.**

She could see that he was considering what she'd told him: his brows were drawn, his face dark.

"That Iwar you mentioned," he said slowly, "Is he one of the Bargeman's Men?"

"He'd served with me the past few moons. I've been introducing him to the matters of the trade between Dale and Erebor," Eorwyn answered. "I'd assumed he'd take my place when– when I left Dale for Erebor."

"Do you trust him?"

"I don't trust anybody," Eorwyn answered quickly.

For a second the King's face lit up with a small smile.

"Do you not?" he asked.

Eorwyn shook her head.

"No. It was his own initiative to detain the Man from my past. He said he'd done it to prevent rumours from spreading and in his words he only had my interest at heart." Eorwyn sighed. "He hasn't asked for anything in return, but–"

"But what?"

"But he now has power over me." Eorwyn twisted her hands. "He knows of the Man. He knows of my past. Maiar know, how much that filth had shared with Iwar and his cousin while they'd guarded him in that room… And how much he'd lied. And at the moment..." She exhaled sharply. "At the moment he's in that room, and I see only one way out of it."

The King tilted his head studying her face. She couldn't read his expression.

"And what is that way, my little hen?" he asked quietly.

"He needs to be escorted out of the city," Eorwyn said with another sigh. "I've considered… other means of ridding myself of him, of course, but–"

He made a low noise his throat, and Eorwyn stopped and looked up at him.

"You have actually considered killing him," he said. His eyebrows were raised in disbelief.

Eorwyn swallowed with difficulty.

"Does it– does it shock you?" she asked, fear grasping her heart. He was a noble honourable man, she thought, perhaps she'd just shown herself below him.

"It does," he said and shook his head. "I never thought you capable of such thoughts."

"Are you… upset with me?" Eorwyn asked in a small voice, and he suddenly guffawed.

"Hardly, my love." A lopsided smirk twisted his lips. "If anything it only makes you more charming. The lack of backbone in a woman would disenchant me. You wanting to twist his neck? That just shows me you have mettle."

"I'd rather he bled out in a dirty ditch. Twisting his neck is too clean," Eorwyn muttered under her breath.

She remembered the blood on the sheets she had had to wash in that house, and the horrors the girls couldn't even speak of, and how broken their bodies had been, and how lifeless their eyes had seemed.

"That could be arranged," the King answered just as quietly.

That shook Eorwyn out of her thoughts.

"No, no," she shook her head frantically. "Don't say such things. That's why I didn't want to come to you in the first place. You should be involved in such matters. You're a King, and–"

"Eorwyn..." he interrupted her softly.

"No!" She covered his lips with her fingers. "Let's not speak evil. I just wish him gone. Out of Dale, out of my life." She looked into his eyes. "Please, Thorin… please. Just listen to what I think."

He nodded and started answering, and she could feel his lips move under the tips of her fingers. The whiskers of his moustache scraped at her skin, and suddenly she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. She didn't want to think of the past, of the pain and the terror that flooded her. She wanted to be _his_ Eorwyn: alive, strong, safe, in love…

He answered to her kiss, just as passionately and urgently as she did, just as she craved. His hands fisted around handfuls of her cloak on her back. He squeezed her, and his lips opened greedily. She could feel his teeth and his tongue join the buss, and she moaned and arched into him.

And then she winced away and panted out, "I'm sorry, that was so inappropriate, I just–"

He laughed, raspily, and then leaned and kissed her again. She had no composure in his arms, it seemed. Her body responded to him, without her will. She just couldn't get enough! She kissed, and bit, and sank her teeth into his bottom lip, and coarse groans fell from her lips.

And then it was his turn to stop and move away from her.

"Halt, my heart," he said and cleared his throat. "This is hardly the place for–" He gave out another small cough.

"Forgive me, I don't know what came over me," she started muttering, and he cupped her face. His thumb brushed at the corner of her lips.

"I hardly think you flaming up in my arms like that requires an apology, my heart," he said with a chuckle.

She could see his brilliant blue eyes in front of her. Her cheeks burnt.

"We've been speaking of violence, and then I–" She couldn't quite finish her thought, and he chuckled again.

"That's very Dwarven of you, my little hen. Bloodshed makes our blood run hotter."

She gave out a shaky laugh.

"So," he said tilting his head again, "What is your plan here, my clever hen? You don't want to gut the caitiff. You want him escorted out of Dale, correct?"

"As far as possible," Eorwyn answered readily. "And I think Iwar would agree to do it, or to find someone to do it. But I want to take this matter out of his hands as soon as possible. He already knows too much. And if I had Men or Dwarves I trusted to do it discreetly and never speak of it, I'd hire them. But I have none."

"That I can help you with," he said.

"Oh but I wish I didn't have to ask you!" she exclaimed, and she felt tears sting her eyes again. "It's bad enough that there are three Men who know of the past of the future Queen Under the Mountain! Now you will have to have several Khazad involved into it too! And you too! I wish I could keep you out of this business!"

He smiled at her warmly.

"That is very prudent of you, my heart," he said.

"It's not prudent at all! I wish this nasty business could just be dealt with!"

"It will be," he consoled her and placed a small kiss on her cheek. "I have just the Dwarf in mind. He'll have it looked after, and you'll never have to think of it again."

Eorwyn sighed and nodded.

"I just wish–" she started.

"Aye, aye, you've said so many times, my little hen," he laughed. "You wish I didn't have to be involved because you're concerned to tarnish my honour." He smirked. "We shall just pass this matter in the hands of a Dwarf whose reputation will not suffer, and we will stay uninvolved." He stroked her cheek tenderly. "And we will consider it done and forgotten. You've come to me as your lover, this way the crown of Erebor will remain uninvolved."

"I have– I have a favour to ask," Eorwyn said quietly. "Will you promise me… that he will live?"

The King gave her a long pensive look.

"I wasn't going to discuss it," he said. "Do you think it wise? Perhaps, if you just pretend to not know-" He trailed away with a pointedly raised eyebrows. "I'll give no direct order either, so that if any calamity befall him…"

"I suspect it might," she whispered. "And I reckon some... harm will befall him. And I don't want to think of it, or know anything. I will just ask you to spare his life. Not for his sake of course, you see… but for mine and yours. I don't wish his death, as deserving of torment and persecution as he is, to be on your hands or mine."

She cupped his face with both her hands.

"I just want him _gone_," she whispered. "He is nothing. He means nothing. I'm… free of him. And I don't want his shadow - of his life or death - to be in my life, especially now that there's so much joy ahead of me." She placed a slow loving kiss on his lips. "I am yours now. You are my life. And we have joy and love ahead of us. I don't want any darkness..."

He was silent for a few seconds - and then he nodded slowly. Eorwyn exhaled in relief, and their lips met in a deep kiss.

* * *

"This is all well and done with," the King said a few minutes later, and Eorwyn opened her eyes.

She stared at the ceiling. She was still sitting on his lap, he'd been kissing her neck, and her head was dropped back. They'd been behaving so unseemly - on the floor in his study, their hands wandering each other's bodies. And more so, she just couldn't stop - and she wanted more! The thought of what they'd done the night before had come to her mind several times by now! And she'd even thought of how she could hint to him that he didn't have to jerk his hands away from her bodice every time his fingers brushed at the lacing! And then she'd even imagined how easy it would be to simply fall back on the floor, and then she'd feel his body on top of her - and something sweetly shook and clenched inside her!

"But you see, my heart, we have another small predicament to solve," he murmured and sat straighter.

Eorwyn as much as whined in disappointment - and then she told herself she was preposterous! Such affairs weren't to take place on the floor! At daylight! And of course he wasn't even thinking of such improper matters right now!

She willed herself to focus on his words.

"What predicament?" she asked breathing heavily.

"You'd been seen, my love," he deadpanned. "Leaving my rooms in the morning."

Eorwyn gasped.

"So we need to decide how we are to announce our union, my hen," he said and laughed. "And then I say we go to my chambers and we continue with what you'd been so industriously refraining from."


	59. One Woman, and Then Another

Thorin laughed at the sight of the heady blush spilling on her cheeks. She truly thought he couldn't see the desire in her eyes! He'd known her body thrice the night before, and he now knew the signs: her lips half-opened, and she'd lick the plump bottom one; her fingers clenched and unclenched; and there was a small sound she'd make in her throat, greeting his efforts. And he'd kiss her neck and nip the sweet skin; and when he moved away, he'd hear a displeased moan. Indeed, his little hen was hardly proficient in hiding her lust. And now she looked embarrassed that he apparently had guessed!

"So shall we, my heart?" he murmured, and her nose twitched in a charming nervous tick.

"What?" she muttered, blushing even more furiously.

"Go to my bedchamber," he answered nonchalantly and then tilted his head, aimed, and placed a quick kiss on her burning ear.

And then just because she was such a treat he caught the earlobe between his teeth. And there it was, that little throaty groan of hers! Thorin smirked pleased with himself.

"We can't," she whined. "It's day time, and–"

"And what? Can such pleasures only happen at night?" He was feeling more and more jolly with each minute. "Are you a bat and not a hen at all?"

"Thorin!" she squeaked.

He guffawed.

"Someone will know!" she said.

"Someone does know. Many someone's." This time he decided it was the tip of her little nose he would kiss. He simply adored the golden freckles. "Have you forgotten, my love? You've been seen. It's causing quite a commotion in Erebor: a woman leaving the King's chambers at dawn. Everyone says it's lady Turith by the way, and–"

He stopped when he saw her face drop. She'd grown suddenly wan, her eyes widened, flooded by the black pupils.

"They say– they say it's lady Turith who's spent the night with you and is now as much as your wife?" she repeated.

He could see she was afflicted but he couldn't tell whether she was upset or angry.

"It's nothing," he said. She remained still and silent, and he gritted his teeth. He knew nothing of the intricacies of emotions - and wanted to know even less. He just wanted her to be as merry and free as a second ago. He didn't enjoy her frozen features and rigid body in his arms. "That's why we need to announce our betrothal–"

"Now," she said sharply. She then blinked, and her gaze focused on him. Her brows were drawn, and he saw her flare her nostrils. "We will announce it _now_."

"Oh?" he asked still not sure he understood her expression.

He looked - and he saw he was right. She was furious. She glared at him.

"How is it done?" she asked in a business like tone. "I want everyone to know right now it was _me_. I was the one who spent the night with you, and it's me who's gone through _abkân _with you!"

"Oh?" he repeated, and then he grinned. His little hen was being proprietary!

"How is it done, Thorin?"

She sounded irritated and imperious! She was demanding an answer! What a delight! He paused trying to choose between stalling some more to tease more of this authoritative tone out of her and pushing her on the floor and getting some taste of her bright red lips, pressed in a tense line at the moment…

...when a knock came to his door.

"My lord, you have a visitor," Vara's voice came from behind the door. "I'm sorry to interrupt–"

His little bookkeeper was so quick that when he realised she'd moved off his lap she was already in the opposite corner of his study. Her hands ran her hair and her dress, smoothing the disarray he'd created.

Thorin smirked, rose, and pulled at the hem of his doublet.

"What is it?" he called, and the door opened.

Vara stuck her head inside.

"Good day, Master Eorwyn," she said and turned to him again. "My lord, Mistress Algun is here to see you. She says it's an urgent matter." The girl gave him a pointed look. "She seems distressed," she added in a whisper.

Thorin threw a look at his bookkeeper, and she nodded.

"Please, invite her," Thorin said to Vara.

The door stayed half-open, and Thorin watched his bookkeeper once again check her hair and her dress.

The needlemaster walked in, and he too could see she was distressed.

"Good day, Mistress Algun," the bookkeeper croaked, and Algun whipped her head and stared at her.

"Oh… Good day." She turned to Thorin. "I haven't realised you were busy, my lord. I came to– It's a sensitive matter, you see."

"I'll give you privacy," the bookkeeper rushed to say before he could open his mouth. "As for those… papers we spoke of, my lord, I'll just return to my rooms to… work, and when you're free, please send for me, so we can… finish working on those papers."

Thorin had to press his jaws to stifle a laugh. She was such an appalling liar! Thankfully, the needlemaster was too distracted to even listen.

"Of course, please, do go work on those papers, Master Eorwyn," he said, his voice shaking from the stifled frolics.

She gave him a glare, and he raised one eyebrow. Oh the pleasures he was preparing for her in his mind! This defiant look became her so!

She gave him a bow, nodded to the needlemaster, and left quickly. He invited Mistress Algun to sit in a chair across from his desk and sat down.

"My lord, I came to ask for a favour," the needlemaster said, and Thorin forced himself to stop daydreaming of his little ginger's perky bottom.

He hadn't seen Mistress Algun in weeks, to think of it. He'd ordered the cloak for his little hen moons ago, and when he'd come to pick it up, the needlemaster was away. Her assistant had given him the package.

"What can I help you with, my lady?" he asked.

"You see, my lord, I've heard… rumours. I think the whole Erebor heard the rumours by now," she said. He watched her clench her hands into tight fists on her lap. "And they say it was Lady Turith, who..." She trailed away.

Thorin lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. Her face twisted anxiously. Thorin said nothing. He simply thought there was nothing to be said here.

"But it wasn't her, was it?" Mistress Algun continued. "I saw you two at the revels last night. Whatever anyone said, you are not infatuated with her. You and I, we are… acquainted a bit better than others. I– I know you better than others. You have no feelings towards her."

"Is there a point to your rhetoric, my lady?" Thorin asked growing irked.

"She's been disproving the rumours all day. She kept arguing with everyone. There was the fete at the market this morning, and every chatty Dwarven maiden tried to congratulate her... 'discreetly,'" she said sarcastically, "But she protested every time. So I say I'm right, and it wasn't her. And..." She drew a sharp breath. "I would like to ask you to say it was me."

"Pardon?" Thorin exclaimed. He expected anything but this!

"To be precise, I'll ask you not to argue when a new rumour spreads, the rumour that it was me. You made no announcement this morning, and it is Nadram after all. The perfect day to announce such joyful news." The needlemaster gave him an intense look. "So I assume you aren't prepared to make your association with that woman known yet. So, if a rumour spreads that it was me, even an unconfirmed one… They say the woman leaving your chamber was blonde… But if, say, someone lets it slip it was me, people will doubt. They will start guessing, asking… And it isn't that impossible to imagine. You and I had been betrothed, we had– we cared for each other. You found me attractive," she kept talking with a stubborn crinkle between her brows. "Is it that improbable that after a night of dancing and ale–"

"Are you mad?" he interrupted her.

She jerked her chin up.

"It would be only temporary, until you make your union with that woman known… Or until I find the solution to my problem. Or–" She suddenly looked worried, as if some sudden realization shook her. "Wait, are you not going to… are you not intending to make the name of that woman known?! Was it… illicit?"

Thorin's mind worked quickly. Were it someone else rather than the needlemaster he wouldn't have spared the nonsense a thought. But she was right, they had sincerely cared for each other. And now he saw she was in trouble - and once he applied his mind, he guessed what trouble it was.

"My lady, I will not be your accomplice in covering up your tryst with a married man," he deadpanned.

She gasped and grew sharply pale. Thorin shook his head. He just couldn't understand why the women in his life tended to think he was unobservant. He _could_ read people's hearts and minds - and in case of his little bookkeeper, other organs as well. He just simply didn't bother most of the time.


	60. Algun Asks

Algun felt blood drain away from her face.

"My lord–" Words stuck in her throat.

The King gave her a smug smirk, and she clenched her fists.

"My lord, how– how dare you?" she finally rasped out.

The King's face dropped.

"I assume you have a low - if any - opinion of my character when it comes to romantic affiliations, and could perhaps imagine me participating in the breaking the sacred union of two people… but to assume that I would come to _you _for help if such an event took place?!To do what, exactly? To ask for your assistance to cover up my illicit affair?!"

The King frowned. And to think of it, she used to find his temperament intimidating! The darkened blue eyes, the set jaw! And attractive as well - she used to feel titillated by the man so authoritative and mercurial! At the moment nothing but indignation filled her heart.

"May I remind you, my lady," he sneered, "you have just accused me of the very same thing. I'm simply returning the favour."

Algun felt a pang of remorse. He wasn't wrong. She dropped her eyes to her hands on her lap and composed herself.

"I apologise for my outburst, my lord." She peeked and saw his features still set in a derisive grimace. Algun reminded herself she was dealing with a man from the line of Durin. Patience was to be applied. "Perhaps we could start the conversation anew."

"You can start by explaining yourself," he grumbled.

"My lord, as you know I'm a Blacklock. And as you also know the customs of my clan are… different from those of the Dwarves of Erebor."

"Your people are as Western as the Western Dwarves come," the King said and leaned back in his chair. "Which is why the subject of an unlawful affair seemed so very _surprising_ to me."

"It is not only adultery or a marriage annulment that are as much as impossible among my kin. So is the possibility of a widow remarrying." Algun sighed. "The zealotry of my clan… I do not share such views. And neither do many of the women in the West. There is no punishment for those who disobey the customs… but I have to tell you it is made quite inaccessible for such women to live the life they want."

Algun felt grateful that he wasn't interrupting or asking her to hurry up with her explanations. He sat in his chair, his fist in front of his mouth, the cerulean eyes attentive on her - he was a figure of calm assurance now - and suddenly she _did_ remember why she'd agreed on his proposal long ago. Algun sighed again.

"I have been exchanging letters with several women in my native dwelling. And several moons ago a scheme emerged," Algun said quietly. "With my help and with the financial support of several families in Erebor, the company of three dozen women are intending to relocate to the Lonely Mountain. Last night the last preparations were made, and the company of mercenaries who would travel West and then accompany the women back to Erebor left the Mountain. Except..." Emotions made her stumble, and she cleared her throat. "There are Dwarves who wish to stop us. Many of them are in the West, but there are some in Erebor as well... my Aunt being one of our main opponents."

The King remained silent and then emitted a quiet 'ah.' Algun lifted her eyes at him.

"My lord, the mercenaries will be stopped, and the women will lose their chance for independence! No one was supposed to know that I'd spent the previous night in Dale, but my Aunt must have seen me… or perhaps, someone among the servants. I've been questioned this morning, and tonight I'm expected to speak to one of the Elders of the Blacklocks who's visiting Erebor. And if so it happens that–" Algun gave him a begging look.

"If it happens to look as if you've spent a night of drunk debauchery with the King, as you suggested a few minutes ago–" he drew out sarcastically, his left eyebrow lifted pointedly.

Algun groaned.

"I apologise for that proposition of mine, that was ridiculous." She exhaled noisily. "I'm just desperate! I should have phrased it better. But, my lord, if I simply avoid saying where I spent the night, and a rumour exists by then–"

She looked at him trying to size up his reaction. He was silent again, pondering her. Since he still wasn't roaring and throwing her out of his study, Algun sat a bit straighter in her chair and tried again.

"And if they think I have your support as well, chances are they will refrain from peering too thoroughly into my business and my movements," she added. "You are the King after all. No one questions your decisions, and they would not question mine by affiliation. Your honour and your authority will protect anyone based on just a hint of a rumour."

"Flattery won't get you far in this matter, my lady," the King rumbled. Algun wondered if exactly the opposite was happening. "You don't possess any power over me anymore."

"I do not claim or hope to have any," she said. "But I have every possible faith in your decency, my lord. I know you share my values and my views on this subject. You are an honourable and compassionate man."

"Again with the flattery?" The King chuckled.

Algun gave him a shy smile.

"Will you help me, my lord?" she asked quietly.

He watched her for a few instants and then shook his head in amusement.

"You aren't even asking for anything, to think of it." The corner of his lips curled up. "You're asking me _not _to say or do anything."

"Exactly," Algun answered - and a relieved laugh escaped her. She felt she had his agreement.

He shook his head again in the same disbelieving entertainment. "You've twisted my arm. If I refuse you, I'll make three dozen women disgruntled. And that is a danger no sane Dwarf would risk."

Algun snickered. A thought came to her, and she folded her hands in front of her chest pleadingly.

"And I do beg forgiveness again, my lord, for all the rash words. Most of all, because your personal matters are none of my concern."

"They are not," he said slowly.

She could see that he was now preoccupied with some unpleasant considerations, and she wondered if he was asking himself how he would inform his paramour that he was to be rumoured to have spent a night with his former betrothed.

To say that she never thought about how his heart fared these days would be a lie. She never regretted her decision of all those moons ago - but she wondered. She'd thankfully been so preoccupied with the conspiracy and with her trade that she had no time to indulge in the petty curiosity - and the inelegant vanity. She considered it below herself, but perhaps were she less busy, she wouldn't have been able to refrain from smugly thinking of being a woman who'd refused the King of the Longbeards.

And then this morning she'd heard from so many that Lady Turith had been seen fleeing his chambers in the early hours. And Algun first laughed because she'd seen Thorin Oakenshield's eyes clouded with infatuation and lust - and none had been in his irises when he'd danced with the blonde. And then, of course, Algun had felt greedy curiosity because if not Lady Turith, who could it have been? And then she was told to see Elder Asi in the evening, and she knew what she'd be asked about, and a desperate plan took shape.

"My lord Thorin, I am grateful," she said gravely, and her words shook him out of his thoughts.

He tilted his head and looked her over merrily.

"As you should be. I'm making three dozen women happy, but there will be one woman who will–" He stopped himself and laughed lightly. Algun had never heard such laugh from him.

Algun told herself that she had no right to ask - and she didn't. But Mahal be merciful, how much she wanted to! 'One woman who will' what? Would _she_ be offended? Was he intending to tell that woman everything? Would she be displeased or entertained?

Algun studied his face. He seemed _different_. Algun remembered their betrothal, what he had been like then: he had been then exactly what one would expect. He was Thorin Oakenshield, the King Under the Mountain, the war hero, the ruler of the Seven Dwarven Kingdoms. He had reclaimed Erebor for his people, and he had had his duties: to restore Erebor to its glory, to unite the Dwarves, to rule, and to marry to father an heir to the throne. Algun had felt he had chosen her exactly because she was what he needed - the perfect woman to become his Queen and his wife and the mother to his sons. And when she'd realised she didn't want to be that woman and left, she'd wounded his pride; and afterwards the more she thought of it, the more certain she felt that his heart had not been harmed. And she felt it was a comforting thought: that another would take her place, a better suited woman, a woman to meet his needs and to fulfill the duties.

But she could see now that a different fate had awaited his heart. He was different now: unburdened, lively, quicker with a smile, younger. There was more life, more humour in his eyes; and the force, the strength, and the ardor that had been hidden under the austere facade, the spirit in him that had made her accept him in the first place, but which had never quite been allowed to bloom - it shone now in his eyes, showed itself in his movements, rumbled in the velvet of his voice. He was in love, she could see now. He _loved, _and it was true and genuine and definite.

"Well, my lady, shall we discuss the details of our plot?" he asked with a chuckle. "For how long do you think I'll need to do nothing?" His shoulders shook from his beautiful whole body laugh.

Algun told herself that she had no right for the sudden dizzying ache that flooded her heart - and she smiled and answered and her voice was even and amicable.

"I would say it would last about a moon, perhaps one and a half. When I receive the letter that the company has embarked on their return journey I would assume they are safe."

"A moon and a half," he repeated, and a small crinkle lay between his brows. "Mahal help me, those will be long six weeks."

Again, of course Algun wanted to ask - but she didn't. They discussed more details, and she once again thanked him, and then she gave him a low bow and left.

While she walked the passages back to her halls she realised her cheeks were wet with tears. It wasn't jealousy, she thought - if only perhaps just a shadow of it. It was envy that made her bite her lip painfully. To love like that… and certainly be loved in return!

And then she shook her head and focused on the task at hand. She needed a chatterbox, and she needed to let it slip that the woman sneaking out of Thorin Oakenshield's rooms this morning had raven hair and wore the richly embroidered red cloak Algun was famous for.


	61. Breathe

Eorwyn returned to her room and sat heavily on her bed. She'd walked briskly to the apprentice halls, and now her heart was beating frantically. It took almost an hour - filled with her mind thrashing, and her jumping to her feet, making a circle around the room, and then sitting back onto her bed - for her to finally calm down. She had to remind herself several times that she was safe now, and to her utter surprise all her troubles, which just this morning had seemed so horrifying and overwhelming, were now over. The question of the Man from her past had been solved. Her association with the King hadn't suffered from him finding out about it. She now only had to wait and the Man would disappear completely out of her life.

And her betrothal to the King was to be announced now - her betrothal to _Thorin_, she corrected in her mind. She still had difficulty calling him by his name even in her thoughts; it would take much longer to even attempt to say it to him with ease - as pleasant as it would be. _Thorin…_ He was still 'the King' to her; 'my lord,' sometimes pronounced respectfully, sometimes in flirtation. She didn't think she'd called him 'Thorin' more than twice or thrice in an everyday conversation by now, but perhaps in the privacy of his rooms? Her thoughts turned to the events of the previous night. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she had to concede that she had indeed pronounced his name several times. She'd breathed it out, she'd moaned it out, and once she'd as much as cried it out. _It was during their second union, his body weighed on hers, the most delicious heft… and she arched and stretched her arms above her head, and he thrust especially deeply. A wave of some sort of intense current went through her body, originating in her centre, flushing through her, making her spine feel as if struck by lightning, and she couldn't hold back the scream. _Eorwyn rushed to the basin on her vanity and splashed cold water on her face. It must have been the anguish of that morning, in that small room in Dale, seeing that Man again - the events of the morning had afflicted her, and now all her emotions were in disarray.

Eorwyn sat back on her bed and closed her eyes. She needed to bring her matters to order - and she would start with her thoughts. She took a few measured, calming breaths, and made a mental inventory of her affairs. To think of it, she had little to worry about now. She just needed to wait for the King to send for her. She'd return to his study, she would pass the information about the Man to him - and she would never think about it again - and then they would discuss the announcement. And by the end of today she would be Master Eorwyn, the betrothed of King Thorin Oakenshield.

Panic rose, and her hands shook. She would be _the King's betrothed_! Everything would change! And most likely, in the eyes of every Dwarf - even those who'd treated her with respect or even cordially - she would become an undeserving usurper! And even more terrifying thought came: her friends would treat her differently! Ada and Nis - would they judge? Would they change towards her? She could lose the only two friends she'd ever had!

Suddenly breathing became hard. Some strange ringing filled her ears, and she flailed her arms and rolled off the bed. She could hardly see anything, some sort of darkness clouded her vision, and she gulped air with an open mouth. A gurgling noise erupted from her throat.

"Eorwyn!" she heard a voice, and she scrambled, clawing at the stone floor. "Eorwyn!"

A pair of strong hands picked her up, and she squeezed her eyes and then forced them to open. Ada's face was in front of her.

"Eorwyn, what's the matter?" The girl sounded terrified. "Why are you on the floor?"

"I can't— I can't— breathe—" Eorwyn gasped, and jerked, and grabbed a handful of her dress on the front.

"Wait, wait! Let me—" Ada rushed to Eorwyn's table and grabbed the knife Eorwyn used for cutting bread.

Ada dropped on her knees, Eorwyn guessed her movement more than heard or saw it - and then she heard the lacing on her dress get sliced. The ribbon ripped, and the corset creaked. Eorwyn fell ahead, her palms pressing into the floor, and coughed, her whole body quaking and her back arching.

"What is going on? What can I—" Ada's hand lay on Eorwyn's shoulder, and then she gathered Eorwyn's hair. "If you're vomiting, do you want a basin?"

Eorwyn shook her head.

"It's alright, alright. Just breathe." Ada rubbed Eorwyn's back between her shoulder blades. "Just breathe… Maybe some water?"

"No, no… I'm alright now… I'll be— Just a moment."

"I heard the noise," Ada said. "Thought you choked on your meal, or something..."

Eorwyn rocked and sat awkwardly on her backside. Ada let go of her hair and leaned closer.

"You're white as sheet, little bird. Are you— ill?"

Eorwyn once again shook her head. "It's alright… I just— I think I just had a— I don't know what happened."

"To me it looked like a 'constriction,' Eorwyn," Ada said softly. "It's when fear takes you over, but there's no reason for fear. Warriors have them in times of peace. And others who'd endured terrors or tortures."

The girl's voice was uncharacteristically serious, and Eorwyn finally managed to focus on her face.

"Is this… something that happens to others?" Eorwyn asked in disbelief. "I thought there was something wrong with my lungs. I've had these fits for so long..."

"They aren't fits, Eorwyn. It's your mind being flooded with terror. My sister's betrothed came back with these from the War for Moria. He'd been in the tunnels."

Eorwyn didn't know what it meant to 'be in the tunnels' but Ada's words were a revelation! She'd always thought she was either ill with some lung disease, or sometimes she wondered if her affliction was just a sign of her losing her mind.

"Did something happen today?" Ada asked in the same kind tone. "Did something upset you?"

"I—" Eorwyn knew not what to answer. "Something did, but then I received good news, but— it's such big news, and I just don't know what I think, and how—" She took a shuddered breath.

"You can talk to us, you know? Nis and me. We will always help you." The maiden's face lit up with a warm smile, and she rubbed Eorwyn's shoulder comfortingly. "I know I'm not the brightest of us three, and Nis always says that I'm preoccupied with trifle matters, and that I— you know... but I can still listen."

Eorwyn's throat clenched painfully, and she threw her arms around Ada's neck and hid her face into the girl's hair.

"Thank you, Ada," she exhaled. "I've never had a friend like you… Thank you."

Ada patted her back and then tightened the embrace.

"I— I wish I could tell you everything," Eorwyn whispered. "I wish—"

"You can!" Ada answered. "I promise your secret will be safe with me."

"It's not a secret… Not for much longer, at least," Eorwyn muttered and moved away. "It's just that— Soon everyone will know, and I just can't imagine what it will be like. And— I just—"

Ada studied her face. "Have you done something wrong, little bird? Are you in trouble?"

"No, no, I didn't. At least not in my eyes, or— But I fear people will not see it this way, and—" Eorwyn pushed her hands into her hair and pulled. "I just wish it were easier. Simpler!"

Ada chuckled. "You aren't making any sense."

Eorwyn so very desperately wanted to just blurt it all out! What if it wouldn't be the end of the world? What if Ada... understood?

"Remember the conversation we had?" Eorwyn said tentatively. "About the Dwarf whom I— Whom I am to be betrothed to?"

"Of course I do! What of him?" Ada said greedily.

"Soon, very soon it'll be announced, and—" Eorwyn sighed. "I'm fearful."

"Oh don't be! I know Erebor Dwarves aren't that open towards such marriages as the Eastern folk, but they will come around. And we're living close to Dale! More of these will happen!"

"Aye, but—"

"And besides, it's _you _we're talking about!" Ada interrupted. "You're known in Erebor! Respected! You're Master Svuir's apprentice. You can marry any Dwarf, and people will accept your choice!"

"Will they?" Eorwyn muttered with doubt in her voice.

"Of course they will!" Ada dismissed it with a wave of her hand.

Eorwyn did want to believe Ada - but she didn't. It wasn't even that she didn't trust the Dwarven maiden's judgement, but Ada simply didn't know the gravity of Eorwyn's situation. Ada was a merry girl, unburdened and optimistic. Eorwyn had never possessed any of such qualities. She sighed mournfully.

"Is there something else, little bird?" Ada asked with sincere concern. "Is there something about it you aren't telling us? You seem so preoccupied!" She once again searched Eorwyn's face. "Is he— is he spoken for? Are you waiting for an annulment of his previous association? Because it wouldn't be that awful. It happens."

Eorwyn shook her head.

"Is he—" Ada gave it a thought. "Oh Mahal, is he a _she_? I know we jested about beards, but is it a woman? Because so you know, we aren't those Western zealots! Everyone is free to love anyone they want here!"

"No, he is a he," Eorwyn said. "He is… of high stature, and his family— I just worry many will not approve—"

"Of course he is of high stature, but so are you now! And it matters not! It's a person's skills and talents and whether two people love each other that must dictate whether they should be together." Ada's tone was dismissive. "And what if he's of an old family and of high stature? He chose you, and you chose him. In this case even the King can't prohibit such love!"


	62. A Wellwisher

The words 'what if it _is_ the King?' had almost fallen off Eorwyn's lips… but she sank her teeth into her bottom lip and sighed.

"So who is it?" Ada asked, apparently tired of waiting for Eorwyn to speak. "Or at least tell me when we're expecting the joyous news."

"I'm meeting him today," Eorwyn answered. "We shall discuss it."

"Oh I'm so happy for you, little bird." Ada clapped her hands. "It'll be alright once you two can be open about your betrothal."

Eorwyn nodded, not at all convinced. She started rising, and Ada supported her.

"You should eat something, Eorwyn. You're still awfully pallid."

Eorwyn realised the Dwarf was right, she hadn't eaten anything since the feast the night before. And since then, she'd spent a night in her first ever carnal pursuits, and then she'd had a shock, had talked to her old torturer, had led negotiations, and had an emotional conversation with her betrothed. The thought of food - and everything that had happened since her last meal - made her head spin. Pain slashed across her stomach, and she groaned quietly.

"Should I send for a tray for you?" Ada asked.

"No, it's quite alright." Eorwyn shook her head.

A tray from the kitchen would be costly, she thought habitually. And perhaps, a small walk would make her feel better as well.

"I'll go to the market and buy myself something..."

"Oh that's right, you should! It's Surmel Okhril, there are going to be revels in the streets, and there will be many carts with food at the market!" Ada rushed to the Eorwyn's bed and picked up her cloak. "Here, take this! You're probably weak and feel cold. Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, thank you. I know you have a class to go to."

Ada sighed. "Aye, it's that training hour with Mistress Sigga. She's the best caratmaster, but she hates my guts."

"Only because you question her knowledge," Eorwyn reminded Ada with a weak chuckle. The girl jerked her shoulder dismissively.

"She's just a hag, that's all!" She pushed Eorwyn's basket into her hands. "Here, go. And find me after the class if you aren't busy. We'll go watch the lads in the Eastern Passages. There will be sparring," she said in a dreamy voice.

Eorwyn laughed. On her way out she left a note with the attendant of the apprentice halls. If anyone was to look for her, or bring her a note, they would be informed that she'd gone to the Smaller Western market.

* * *

She was finishing a bowl of mushroom stew and a large slice of freshly baked buckwheat bread when a male voice carried over the loud crowd made her turn around.

"Eorwyn!"

For a moment she couldn't see who'd called her. The young men participating in Surmel Okhril, surrounded by a gawking crowd were currently showing off their knife throwing skills. A row of targets was set in the middle of the square. Eorwyn was sitting away from the crown, on top of a tall tailing with several others who didn't necessarily want to be in the centre of the action.

"Eorwyn!" she heard again, and then she saw him.

Amri was pushing through the crowd. He waved to her. She could see a preoccupied frown on his face, and she felt suddenly lost at what to do, and as if without her participation her hand with a spoon in it rose and she gave him a childish wave.

He finally reached her and stopped in front of her. His face was level to the empty bowl on her lap.

"Eorwyn," he repeated again, this time quieter. She could hardly hear him, the crowd was cheering an especially proficient thrower.

"Good day," Eorwyn said in a lost tone.

She put the bowl aside intending to jump off, when he suddenly picked her up by her waist and helped her down. Her body tensed. His touch as if had burnt her skin through her clothes.

"Come," he said and stretched a hand to her.

Everything inside her protested, and she winced away.

"I have matters to attend right now, I can't–" she started. But he made a gesture near his ear signalling that he couldn't hear her. "I can't leave the market!" she raised her voice.

He gestured again, and then pointed at a public house on the edge of the square. Eorwyn looked around, and then asked herself what it was she expected to see - or didn't want to be seen. If the King would want to see her now, he wouldn't come to the square himself. And if a courtier were looking for her, they'd find her in the public house. It had large glass windows, she just needed to make sure to sit so she were visible.

Eorwyn picked up her basket from the ground and started walking. She could feel Amri's presence behind her.

* * *

They took a table by the window, and a maid came to take their order. Eorwyn asked for a mug of gibir hamd - a bubbly malt tasting drink she was very fond of; Amri ordered an ale. They sat and waited for the maid to return in silence. Eorwyn decided since he was the one to have approached her, he should be the one to speak up. She was endlessly uncomfortable, but on the other hand she was glad that he had called for her. Their past had been weighing on her mind.

"Eorwyn, I will be blunt," Amri said with a sigh after they took their first sips. "I heard rumours this morning. _The_ rumours. I'm sure you know of what I speak."

Eorwyn held the mug to her lips unnecessarily long to hide her expression. The King's words echoed in her mind: 'you're a poor liar, little hen.' It would be wiser to not attempt to feign her ignorance but to avoid answering altogether.

"And I… worry," Amri said. "I worry about you."

"You worry about me," Eorwyn repeated slowly.

"I saw you yesterday at the revel," Amri said grudgingly. "I saw you two… together. I saw _how_ you were with each other, how you danced. And considering that you're back in the Mountain, I assumed– I assumed that the man - we both know whom I speak of - had made his feelings to you known, and that the two of you have..." Muscles danced on Amri's jaw. "That you have entered an association."

He wasn't wrong, Eorwyn thought. She wasn't even surprised that he'd guessed. He'd always been quite observant.

"And then this morning I've heard of… him and Lady Turith," he said, his voice growing firmer. "And I wanted to speak to you about it, because I just wonder if you don't understand the Dwarven traditions, and how unacceptable his behaviour is. And that the fact that he is– _who_ he is, doesn't give him the right to get involved with two women at the same time!"

Eorwyn's jaw slacked. Amri's nostrils flared in anger.

"I care for you, Eorwyn," he gritted through clenched teeth. "And I can't simply sit and watch you being... used."

A peculiar thought came to Eorwyn's mind. It was an unfortunate trait of hers, which she was more and more aware as she was growing older. She _would_ have a firm opinion and the perfect answer to Amri's words… but it would be the next day. Her mind was quick and efficient when it came to her beloved numbers and to the dealings in trade, but when it came to social engagements, she simply lacked experience and skill to find her voice. Perhaps, it'd been too rarely that she'd been asked what _she_ thought of a matter. To think of it, King Thorin was the first person to be considerate and respectful of her wishes and ideas. She suddenly remembered how he'd asked again and again whether she had been certain of her desire the previous night.

She stared at Amri, and he seemed to get encouraged by her silence.

"Eorwyn, if you need help, if you don't know how to leave this association– If it's not what you thought it would be… Or you don't know _how_ it should be–" Amri tangled in his words. "I know how painful it must be for you to hear the rumours this morning–"

"Amri," she interrupted, still not at all sure what she'd say.

"Please, don't argue, Eorwyn," Amri said and leaned ahead over the table. "I remember how unaware you were when I first pointed out his 'interest' in you." Amri's voice was now venomous. "You kept repeating he was your 'friend.' I understand how you could be so naive, I judge you not, believe me. You simply don't know what men are like, even Dwarven men. And of course you couldn't see it! How his eyes followed you, how he lusted after you." A bitten grimace twisted his lips. "And of course you agreed… What choice did you have? Of course you gave in. He has all the power!"

It was Amri's unfairness towards the King - his sheer assumption that the King would be so reprobate, so corrupt as to bring the question of power into the question of passion - that shook Eorwyn out of her stupor.

She still knew not what to say - what words would be wise, what she shouldn't say, and what she felt - so she just got up and started walking towards the doors of the public house. She simply knew she didn't want to listen to him anymore.

"Eorwyn!" His voice rang in the common room, and she heard his steps behind her.

She winced, but he didn't grab her arm as she feared for an instant. He was a Dwarf after all - though a blind, self-assured, arrogant, presumptuous one.

"Wait, I need–"

"Master Eorwyn," another voice addressed her, and she turned around sharply.

A royal courtier stood in the entrance of the tavern with a rolled up piece of parchment in his hand.

"A note from King Thorin, my lady," he announced loudly and stretched his hand towards her.


	63. First Time Out Loud

"Eorwyn, you need to listen to me–" Amri voice dropped into a low growl.

"No, I don't want to continue this conversation," Eorwyn muttered and turned to him. The parchment from the King crunched in her tightening fist.

"You don't understand, he's–" Amri's heavy wide body swung to her, and Eorwyn snapped.

"That's persecution," she interrupted him in a hissing whisper. "I've already said no. You can't force me into a conversation, it's the same as forcing a person into a touch. If I don't want to hear something and I've explicitly said so, you have no right to continue."

She jerked the strap of her sack on her shoulder and dashed out of the tavern. Amri didn't follow. Outside the building, she walked several passages before she stopped and leaned her back against a wall. Her palms felt clammy, and something shook nastily inside. The stew she'd eaten lay like a weight in her stomach, and nausea made her swallow bitter taste in her mouth several times. She opened the note.

_After the ninth bell meet me in the same place where we'd had breakfast._

_T._

Eorwyn looked at the Third Clock Tower that could be seen from where she stood. There were still six hours till they were to meet. The ninth bell rang in Erebor when most were sitting down at dinner tables. Waiting would be a torture, she knew, but she could also understand that he was no idle errand boy in a small shop. He had matters to attend - and so did she.

Eorwyn returned to her room. Ada and Nis were gone, attending their classes. Eorwyn sat at her desk with the papers she'd brought from Dale, but she had trouble concentrating on the contracts. To think of it, it had been less than three days since she'd returned to Erebor. By then they'd exchanged but a few kisses and some tentative promises had been made. And here she was: even though unannounced, she was his wife now, in mind and in body. And though perhaps not this night, but very soon it would be known - and yet again her life would change utterly and completely!

Eorwyn ordered herself to return to her reading and her calculations, but of course her thoughts wandered: from the memories of the previous night, to that day in Dale when they'd been caught in the rain, and she'd kissed him because suddenly she just couldn't live without knowing what it felt like, and she saw the surprised look on his face. There had been drops of water on his face, and more had dripped from his wet hair, and he'd brushed the water off with his large hand. She suddenly recalled Mirkwood, seeing his face then, her vision blurred by the enchantment the air carried and by the pain ripping through her body. He'd seemed daunting to her then, but so had everyone else. Bilbo, the Halfling, had explained to her while they'd been plodding through the suffocating maddening forest that the Dwarves had been on a quest to reclaim their homeland, and that Thorin was their King, and she'd thrown a terrified look at his wide back. He'd been carrying her later and she'd peeked at his pale exhausted face. Dark shadows had lain under his sunken eyes, his face had been dirty, as had been all of him - and yet she could see he _was_ a King. Eorwyn had never known anyone with stature higher than an elder in a merchant village. Thorin had seemed to her… otherworldly, like a hero from those tales she'd heard as a child. And then they'd talked, and she could see he was also a man - but a man like no other she'd ever met before. And the night before she'd found out so much more about him…

...and suddenly she giggled and felt her cheekbones flush. Her squirrel like mind had just jumped from the reverent pondering of the man's honour and character to the memory of him playfully biting her buttock and pointing out that it was 'round and jaunty.' That was the word he'd used - _jaunty_! He was a King and he thought her backside was 'jaunty'!

Eorwyn giggled again and then saw a puddle of ink under her quill. Eorwyn called herself 'an enamored cow' and put the quill back into the ink bottle. She now had to start the calculations from start.

* * *

The eighth bell tolled, and Eorwyn packed the last finished contract into her sack. She wondered if she should find something to eat. She couldn't be sure that the King was inviting her to share a meal, or they simply needed to have a conversation. She was feeling small shivers run through her body. They were her usual signs of exhaustion and hunger. To think of it she had hardly slept the previous night, and the day had been full of events.

Eorwyn walked into the common room she shared with Ada and Nis, and found Nis sitting at the table, eating hurriedly, a book in her left hand.

"Evening," Eorwyn said.

"Ah, evening, little bird." The girl smiled. "I wasn't sure if you were sleeping. Ada said you'd had some troubles today and she said you might be resting."

"I was working, but I'm done now."

"Do you want some stew? I've bought enough for two." Nis pushed the small pot she'd clearly brought from the market towards Eorwyn.

Eorwyn thanked her hotly and sat down. She plated some stew, and Nis handed her half of her small loaf of oat bread.

"I'll be… away this evening. I need to go to meet with someone," Eorwyn said quietly after a few minutes, and Nis stopped chewing.

"Oh," she said and swallowed her food. "Do you want to… talk about it? Ada said something happened, and she didn't want to pressure you– Which is shocking if you think of it," Nis added sarcastically.

Eorwyn snorted.

"But she said you might want to talk to me about it," Nis returned to her serious tone.

"I– I don't know..." Eorwyn moved a piece of rutabaga on her plate with her spoon. "I do want to talk to you, but I'm scared."

"Of what?" Nis asked.

"Of what you'll think of me… No, I'm not saying it right. But you see, tomorrow everyone will know, and I will have to face it– And if you take the news badly, then it means everyone will as well, because… because you're my friend, and if even you–" Eorwyn's voice broke.

Nis' warm hand covered Eorwyn's.

"I _am_ your friend," Nis said. "Whatever happens. You can tell me."

Eorwyn looked up and met Nis' earnest gaze.

"The man I'm– the man I love– the one I went through _abkân_ with… is King Thorin."

Nis' palm slid off Eorwyn's hand.

"What?"

"It's King Thorin. We're to be officially betrothed tomorrow."

Eorwyn could see shock flood Nis' eyes, and the Dwarven maiden heavily leaned back in her chair.

"You… and the King? You are to be betrothed to–" Nis made a low scratchy noise in her throat, and her hand flew to her forehead.

And then her next words felt like a blade entering Eorwyn's chest.

"But you aren't a Khuzd!"

Eorwyn winced away, pressing her head into her shoulders.

"How– But you can't be his Queen! our Queen!" Nis continued, "You can't–"

And then they both were silent. Eorwyn felt her lips twist in anguish, and she quickly rose hiding her face.

"Thank you for the stew, I will–" Her voice broke, and she blindly started grasping for the plate to put it into the washing up basin.

"Eorwyn," Nis started in an uncertain voice, but Eorwyn was already by the door. She pushed the plate onto a shelf above the basin and was out of the room.

She made a few steps along the hallway when she realised she didn't have her cloak or her bag with her. She'd have to cross several passages and two open squares. Although all of Erebor was hidden inside the Mountain, the longer and wider passages between the arrays of halls were like streets: cold and drafty; and they required proper attire and shoes to be crossed. She stopped and turned around and then stopped again, lost at what to do.

"Eorwyn, hey!" Ada's voice rang from the other way of the short hallway. The girl was carrying her books. "I'm glad I caught you! I'm starving, and–"

"I'm sorry I have to go," Eorwyn exclaimed and almost started running, but Ada was already near her.

She leaned to Eorwyn's face with concern.

"What happened? You're white as sheet again!" She stretched her hand, but Eorwyn shied away from the touch.

"Oh please, let me go," Eorwyn sobbed and pushed by Nis.

She ran and then just walked briskly and then she ran again, and tears burnt her cheeks - and then she stopped because she suddenly realised she was going in the opposite direction. She was supposed to meet the King in the Forges, and the Clock Tower she could see showed she still had half an hour till then. She looked around. Without thinking she'd run to the Royal Halls! She could see the wide doors in the Western wall. Behind them, she knew, there would be a narrow passage, with doors in its Northern wall, leading to parlours and dining halls, and in the end there was a flight of stairs, with doors to private chambers on each landing, with the King's anteroom at the very top. He'd run into her on that landing, and led her by her hand into his rooms, just last night, and she had been shaking because she'd thought then her heart had been broken forever and he was never to be hers - and then just this morning she had quickly escaped those room, out of his bedchamber, through his private parlour and the anteroom and down the stairs, happy and fulfilled and in love. If she walked there now, would she be seen?

"Master Eorwyn," a quiet voice came from behind her, and Eorwyn jumped up.

She twirled on her heels and stared at an elderly Dwarf in front of her.


	64. Hall Pass

"I'm sorry, I was–" she mumbled and then stopped because she didn't know what to say and why she was apologising. It's not as if the Dwarf knew she was considering sneaking into the King's bedchamber!

It would be quite a foolish plan to think of it. He probably wasn't even there!

"Master Eorwyn, I'm Steward Nyr, the personal servant of King Thorin," the old Dwarf said. He had pale blue eyes and a white orderly beard with three thick braids going down its middle.

"Pleasure to meet you," Eorwyn exhaled.

"Would you be so kind as to help me with my heft?"

Eorwyn looked down and saw a small basket in the Dwarf's hands. It looked hardly… hefty.

"Um… of course."

Eorwyn threw a quick glance at the clock. There were still twenty five minutes till her meeting with the King, and she could reach the Forges in fifteen. She just hoped helping Steward Nyr wouldn't take hours.

She stretched her hand, and he placed the basket on her palm. It weighed almost nothing.

"It's just some sweets, you see," the Dwarf said. "My arms aren't that strong anymore, my lady. I was fortunate to run into you."

"But of course." Eorwyn gave him a nervous smile. She turned to the passage and looked left and then right at its ends. "Where were you heading?"

"Into the King's rooms," the Dwarf answered mundanely, turned away from her, and headed towards the doors to the Royal Halls.

"Oh but– You see, Master Nyr–" Eorwyn minced after him mumbling. "It is quite late, and–"

"It's _Steward_ Nyr," the Dwarf interrupted her as if not hearing. "Not Master. Never had the honour to finish my ranks, you see, and then the Orcs came, and my master, young Thorin's grandfather that would be, took me with him. And I was a lad then, and we fought together. And he was wounded then, and someone had to nurse him to health, and so I stayed in the halls, and looked after him, and then his son, and now Master Thorin."

He kept slowly walking, shuffling his feet, and Eorwyn pattered after, opening her mouth and closing without daring to put a word in. He grasped the handle on the door and opened it with ease. Eorwyn remembered how heavy the door leaf was, and she once again confirmed to herself she was being lured inside under false pretenses.

"Steward Nyr, I'm afraid–" she started, and then realised that he wasn't heading towards the stairs but opened the first door to the right.

It opened with a creak, and she saw a narrow flight of stairs going up.

"We will take the servant path, my lady. You'll have to forgive me," he said by no means apologetically.

Eorwyn had no choice but to follow him up the stairs.

"And Master Thorin is so preoccupied these days, you see," the Dwarf continued his monotonous speaking, slowly but steadily scuffling up. "All these important matters. The King of all Longbeards, by Mahal's mercy. No one would fit better, not that anyone asks me. I remember him as a tot. Always so dignified, even as a youngling. But you see, he has a kind heart. He used to find those pests everywhere, mousers. Loved them he did. And then I would come to his room, and there is another one. Skinny they were, hungry, and he fed them milk, and his dinner, and I says, 'You're getting too old for them pusses,' and he would pretend not to hear, and then you just hear, quietly so, 'Please, Nyr.' I never gave him away, of course. A kind boy, he was. Still is."

They reached the top of the stairs, and he opened another door. Behind it was a long narrow dark passage, and Eorwyn could see light escaping through a frame of another door in the opposite end.

"This way, my lady." The Dwarf pointed with his bony crooked finger. "You just give him the basket."

"What?" Eorwyn squeaked.

"The hour is late, my lady. It's time I repose. And Master Thorin was needing his dinner packed, you see, and was just waiting for this order, and you just give it to him. And don't mind his bellyaching. He was in a hurry, you see. Leaving somewhere." The Dwarf made a few grumbly noises. "Not that I would know anything, you see. But the dinner is packed, and the blankets, and suddenly it's all, 'Run, Nyr. Get me sweets, Nyr.' Sweet tooth he is, always has been. Except I always thought he didn't fancy currant bread, never touched it, I recall. And all of a sudden I was to make sure there was a loaf of it. Spicy currant bread." The Dwarf shook his head. "So he will probably bark a bit when you open that door, but it's only he thinks it's me coming, and he's late and pacing there, probably. So you go, go."

The Dwarf made an ushering gesture as if shooing a fly, turned around, and unexpectedly swiftly disappeared. The door closed behind him. Eorwyn doubted he locked it, but she saw she obviously had no choice but to move forward.

She exhaled sharply and marched through the passage. She had always been told that a bandage was to be removed from a wound in one confident move. When her hand lay on the cold stone of the door, her heart thrashed in her throat - and then she pushed and stepped ahead.

And then she winced away. The King stood right near the door, dressed in a cloak, buttoned to his chin, his face scowled in an utterly irritated grimace. And then his jaw slacked and the thick black eyebrows jumped up.

A pause hung in the room. And then Eorwyn blurted out, "I brought your sweets," and shoved the basket under his nose.

"Eorwyn?"

An odd shaky laugh burst out of her.

"Aye, it's me. Did you expect lady Turith?" Her voice veered hysterically.

"I expected Nyr, my manservant," the King said in a lost voice.

"He's gone to bed. He sent me here with your order." Eorwyn shook the basket. Some sort of unhealthy merriment was making her jest. "He caught me near the Royal Halls and sent me up." She looked around, giggled again, and added, "Straight into your bedroom it seems."

"Clever old devil," Thorin muttered.

And then the basket slipped out of her fingers, and she hiccuped and lunged ahead and threw her arms around his neck. He embraced her tightly, and his hot palm lay on the back of her head. Eorwyn sobbed.

"What is it, my heart?" he asked softly.

"Currant bread– Currant–" she choked out and pressed into him even more desperately. "You ordered my favourite currant bread… Oh Thorin..."

He started tenderly stroking her hair.

"We were supposed to meet in the Forges," he whispered, "Not that I disapprove of your miraculous appearance in my bedroom, but–"

"I told my friend, and– And she was beyond herself." Eorwyn's voice trembled. She was still hiding her face. "She said I couldn't be the Queen, that I was–"

"Why did you tell her?" the King interrupted her sharply, and his voice was irked.

It was the coldness of his tone that made her move away and look into his face. He was frowning darkly.

"She's my friend. My first friend… I've never had friends, and I was hoping at least she'd understand–" Eorwyn hastily wiped her tears. "We will be announcing it officially tomorrow, and I just needed… I don't know… Maybe I wanted to tell them myself, they are– _were_ my friends. I never expected her to condone me. I was fearful, but then I still hoped–"

A small sad smile brushed at the King's lips, and he gently cupped her face.

"I'm sorry, my heart. Come, sit with me."

He stepped to a low bench at the foot of his bed and sat down. Eorwyn joined him. She sighed heavily and lowered her eyes. His warm rough palm covered her hands on her lap.

"We can stay here, no one will come in," he said. "Only Nyr does, but he clearly won't."

He chuckled, and Eorwyn laughed through her tears.

"He isn't deaf or senile at all, is he?" she asked in a nasal voice.

"Your guess is as good as mine." The King leaned in and kissed Eorwyn's temple. "There are things we need to discuss, my heart. And it has to do with your current woe as well."

Eorwyn gave him a questioning look.

"So it happens, my heart, that we can't announce our betrothal just yet. Circumstances arose that require me to remain unattached in the eyes of the people," he said calmly. "Let me explain everything to you. I am sure you will understand and support me entirely."


	65. Not on the Same Page

Thorin finished his explanation and gave his little bookkeeper an attentive look. Her face was completely blank, and her eyes were fixed on the bedpost behind him.

"My heart?" he called to her.

She blinked and looked at him. He still couldn't understand her reaction, and her prolonged silence was starting to irritate him.

"Mistress Algun said we'd have to sustain the pretence for a moon or a little longer," he said hoping to prompt her to answer.

She nodded and dropped her eyes to her hands folded mannerly on her lap.

"What shall we do about my friend?" she asked quietly.

Thorin gave her a taken aback look. "What does your friend have to do with anything?" He was growing tired of her reticence, and he lifted his hand to pick up her chin and make her look at him. He needed to see her face! He stopped himself, of course, and huffed some air in irritation. "Eorwyn, you do understand that we can't announce our betrothal as you wanted, and–"

"_I_ wanted?" She sharply lifted her face.

"Aye, you did. Just a few hours ago you insisted we announced it as soon as possible." Thorin didn't quite enjoy stating the obvious, but it seemed she was either confused, or purposefully being obtuse.

"Right, yes, I did." A strange small smile brushed at her lips. "But we can't now, can we? Because of all those women. They need our help."

"Aye, they do."

Thorin felt a tinge of relief. She was finally starting to talk, and just as he hoped she could see how supporting Mistress Algun's cause was the right thing to do. He hardly doubted his little bookkeeper, but there had been still a chance her emotions would stand in the way. Thankfully, she was exactly the intelligent honourable woman he considered her.

"So about Nis," she said, once again looking somewhere in the distance.

"Nis? Ah, your friend." Thorin frowned. "What about her?"

"Well, I can't possibly tell her it had been a jest and I didn't mean it," Eorwyn muttered. "So she knows now, and… what if she tells someone?"

Thorin scoffed, "What if she does? Today people have been talking about lady Turith leaving my rooms. Tomorrow it'll be Mistress Algun. She can add you to the list if she likes."

He could see a crinkle between her brows and she was chewing her bottom lip. He couldn't quite understand what still bothered her.

"Eorwyn? What is the matter?"

She looked at him again, and then she suddenly burst into loud laughter. Her mood seemed to veer madly this evening. Thorin assumed it was the shock and the frustration around the postponement of their betrothal that caused it, and he decided it could be forgiven.

"Oh Thorin, how differently we see this!" she exclaimed and then she moved to him and her beautiful arms lay on his shoulders loosely. The freckled nose was right in front of him. "It's comical really! It's like we live in two different worlds. You don't understand my anguish at all!"

"What is–" He didn't get a chance to finish because she was suddenly pressed flush against him.

The kiss was deep and intoxicating, and soon their hands were wandering. He could feel her cool fingers brush at his throat, she was trying to open the clasp on his cloak. She wore none. To think of it she'd showed up without a cloak or proper shoes and she had no bag with her. She'd been disheveled and crying, and a considerate husband needed to ask, he knew of course - but she'd just climbed on his lap and then her skirts hiked up and he found his palms on her thighs. She arched, pressing her centre into him, her neck was bared to his kisses - and he decided to be considerate later.

He turned around on the bed and lay her down. Her knees opened, and he saw a pleased smile on her lips.

"We wouldn't have been able to do this in the Forges," she giggled.

"I had blankets packed with our dinner," he murmured, kissing the tops of her tender peaks in the cut of her simple dress.

She gave out a throaty laugh. He was sliding down her body, kissing, caressing, and looking for the ends of the lacing of her bodice.

"Always so provident," she murmured.

* * *

He opened his eyes and looked at the dark green canopy of his bed. The bookkeeper lay on top of him, her little fists stacked on his chest, her chin settled on them. Most of her braids had gone undone, and the locks stood like flames around her face. She looked merry and satiated.

"The dinner has gone cold probably," he said.

"I've already had dinner with–" She paused, her face darkening for an instant, but then the shadow was gone. "But I could always eat again. What are we having?"

"Nyr packed us provisions," Thorin said and chuckled, "And your favourite currant spice bread."

She stretched and placed a quick tender kiss on his lips.

"You're indulging me."

He delighted in the way she was at the moment: warm, unburdened, tousled, and nude. Her skin glowed in the light of the candles, and when she sat up pressing a cover to her chest he was presented with the view of her elegant back. When the ridiculous predicament was over, he'd have her finally reside in his halls and he'd have her every night. Perhaps, any sort of clothing had to be prohibited in this room. She shimmied her shoulders.

"Are you cold, my heart?" he asked tenderly.

She turned and threw him a cheeky look over her shoulder. The skin was peppered with golden flecks as well, just as her cheekbones.

"Now I am. Before… Before I was perfectly warm."

He laughed, sat up, and wrapped his arms around her.

"I'll start the fire and get us some dinner." He kissed the delicate shoulder. "Let me get more furs for you to cover."

* * *

After some roasted chicken, root vegetables, and a shared drink of apple cider, she was picking at a slice of the currant bread, while he was finishing another meat pie.

"Could we talk seriously?" she said shyly, twisting a small piece of crust between her fingers.

She sat tightly wrapped in a sheet under her arms. He found her modesty quite entertaining. Covers and furs were arranged around her and on her shoulders. Later he would love to unwrap this parcel, but for now he nodded. He was hardly sated carnally, but they'd just eaten a substantial dinner so he decided a few minutes could be spared to talking.

"I should find myself different rooms," she said evenly. "I don't want to bore you with my distress but I don't wish to share my rooms with my former companions anymore."

"Your distress couldn't bore me," he said softly, and she gave him a melancholic smile.

"I think you underestimate how differently we see our situation," she said.

"So you have mentioned," Thorin said sardonically. "What is it that we see differently exactly? I thought you were just as willing to aid Mistress Algun as I was."

"Oh I am," she said and patted his knee over the covers.

The gesture was funny because there was some sort of a patronising air to it. He suddenly remembered how she'd once shook a finger at him, long ago, when he saw nothing but a girl of Men in her. She'd always treated him respectfully but never subserviently. He'd never expected to - but he valued it between them. And now she was giving him an equivalent of a pat on the head like to a tot! Thorin chuckled and shook his head.

"This is the second time today that I'm apparently misreading a woman's thoughts and feelings," he said thinking back at how smug he'd felt in his conversation with the needlemaster - and how mercilessly she'd put him into his place afterwards. He laughed again. "I'll risk putting my foot in it again, and I'll ask you if your distress comes from being my illicit lover for another month."

She stopped chewing and gave him a wide eyed look. Thorin guffawed.

"I've failed again, haven't I?" He grabbed the back of her neck, pulled her in, and placed a firm short kiss on her lips. "Well, go on then, explain to me what I understood wrong."

She swallowed her food and cleared her throat.

"I'm in high spirits, my little hen. I've been fed..." He leaned closer to her and whispered, "And bedded." She predictably blushed furiously. He laughed. "I'm in a forgiving mood, so feel free to correct me."

She gave him a suspicious look, making him shake with more frolics.

"I am not distressed about having to hide our love for longer," she said timidly. "Quite the opposite… I have to admit to being a coward and feeling relieved that it's postponed. If a person who considered me a friend was so quick to place judgement–" She stopped herself and shook her head. "No, it matters not. It's all just futile worry, and–"

She exhaled sharply, and her face grew calm and content again. He was starting to suspect that she was censoring her moods around him, but he couldn't say he disapproved. He grew up around Dis, having to deal with her temper tantrums. His brother Frerin had been moody and mercurial, may Mahal be generous to him in the Halls of their Forefathers. Thorin had had a cordial relationship with his Father, but his Mother was temperamental and severe. He could surely appreciate sharing his life and his halls with a level-headed person like his little hen.

"Other than these worries of mine, nothing distresses me," she said decisively. "And I'll face those difficulties when I face them." She shrugged. "As for hiding our love..." She looked at him askance. "_That -_ I actually quite enjoy."

Thorin choked on the cider he was drinking.

"Pardon?"

She gave out another of her silver laughs.

"It's exciting. Look at me!" She opened her arms and made a wide gesture around herself. The sheet slid down, and Thorin thought the repose they'd had was sufficient and now it was time for more vigorous pursuits. "I'm in your bedroom, in the middle of the night, and no one–"

Thorin wasn't listening. He put his mug aside and slowly shifted closer to her on the bed. She froze and stared at him. Her nose twitched, and he pounced. She fell back on the bed, under his weight, with a joyous squeal.

* * *

"So, to summarise," she said stately, and Thorin rolled with laughter. Apparently his little bird decided to finish the thought he'd so rudely interrupted an hour ago. He lifted his head that had previously been cozily resting on her buttock.

"Aye, what is the summary?" He rubbed his nose to the silky warm skin.

"I need new apartments, and they should probably be closer to the Royal Halls," she drew out nonchalantly. "To make this month go faster."

"Oh?" He pondered his options and then gave the buttock a small bite. She snorted into the pillow. "Or you can just stay where you are now. Nyr will bring you food and water for baths. This way I'll enjoy your company anytime I want," he murmured suggestively.

"I do have a vocation, my lord," she said haughtily. "I'm an emissary of the Kingdom of Men. I can't lounge in bed all day."

Thorin gave her backside a hearty squeeze and moved higher on the bed to level their faces.

"No, but after sunset..." He leaned and kissed her delicious lips. "You're all mine."


	66. The Question of Archery

Eorwyn was woken up by a quiet but firm knock at the back door of the King's bedchamber. Her eyes flew open. She was on her side, her back pressed into the King's chest, his heavy right arm wrapped around her waist.

"My lord," Steward Nyr called from behind the door. Eorwyn stayed still, even holding her breath. "It's quarter hour past the forth bell," Nyr announced, and then Eorwyn heard his shuffling steps retreat.

Eorwyn carefully picked up the King's arm by the wrist.

"What do you think you're doing, little hen?" The King's voice raspy from his sleep, but merry nonetheless.

"I should go," Eorwyn whispered.

"No, you should stay," the King said, and she could feel him bury his nose into her hair.

His hand lay on her stomach, and he pulled her in. Eorwyn made a surprised croak like noise. Apparently, the King hadn't been satisfied by the previous night's... deeds. Eorwyn didn't know a proper word for what they'd done last night and the night before. There were profanities for such matters of course, but they surely didn't apply to their physical love: it had felt healthy, wholesome, and unsullied.

"I need to leave before the halls awake," Eorwyn protested weakly.

"The doors to the Royal Halls don't open until the fifth bell." The King rose on one elbow, and she felt his warm lips caress her ear.

"That's why I need to leave now," she said and turned around. She met his laughing eyes. "So I don't encounter anyone!"

"Nyr will be back at the fifth bell. That's when he usually wakes me. He'll help you sneak out." The King's left eyebrow rose. "Which means we have three quarters of an hour."

"For what would those three quarters of an hour to be used?" Eorwyn asked feigning confusion, and he shifted his weight on top of her and claimed her mouth.

* * *

Eorwyn pulled up her second stocking and got off the King's bed.

"I can't find my shoes," she muttered and knelt on the floor. "And my doublet for that matter."

She peeked under the bed. A few of the King's garments seemed to have travelled there at night. She stuck her hand into the pile of velvet and linen and rummaged.

"Any luck?" the King asked with a chuckle.

"No, and my time is almost up. Ugh!"

Eorwyn lay on her stomach and continued her search. Suddenly she felt three hearty pats fall on her bottom.

"Perhaps, my King should help me instead of playing," Eorwyn grumbled under her breath, making sure he could hear her.

The King guffawed.

"I'm fatigued," he murmured. "I'm of no help to anyone until I eat and rest. There's no strength left in me."

Eorwyn looked over her shoulder and saw that his upper half hung off the bed. His hips were still - thankfully - hidden under the covers, but above the waist his bare torso was suspended mid air. Whatever the man griped, clearly there was still strength in his body.

It was odd to her to notice that the view of so much of his exposed skin was still flustering her. His chest was covered in thick coarse hair, and she'd had her fill of touching it the night before. And yet, she averted her eyes now.

Finally, all her garments had been found and in place, and she straightened up.

"It's the Royal Family Dinner tomorrow night, my little hen," the King said. He was sitting his back against the headboard of his bed. "You are officially invited."

"Right… Aye..." Eorwyn muttered and sighed.

"Just make sure that my sister doesn't marry you out to one of my nephews. I think she has Kili in mind for you. Even though I'm clearly not abdicating or dying of old age any time soon, she still thinks a wife for Fili should be chosen politically prudently, from an old clan from the West. Kili, on the other hand..." he trailed away and gave her a cheeky side glance.

Eorwyn narrowed her eyes. Even these days, with all the familiarity between them, she sometimes couldn't quite grasp where his jest ended, and what meaning could lie below his frolicking. He couldn't possibly be concerned about the possibility of some matchmaking being directed at her, could he?

"And today is Teskêl, the Game Day," he continued in the same offhanded tone. "The day when men and women compete and show their mastery in swording, archery, and wrestling. So, if a Dwarf is looking for a spouse with fighting talent, today is the day to go to the Capital Grounds."

Eorwyn huffed some air.

"Will you go, my little hen? Men spar bare-chested," he drew out with a mischievous light in his eyes, and then added in a conspiratorial tone, "I know how fond you are of that part of male anatomy."

Eorwyn gasped in indignation and decided the man needed to be taken down a notch.

"Perhaps, I should," she said keeping her tone just as nonchalant. "I want to see how well Prince Kili does in the competition. I've heard many compliments on his… performance."

The King pounced ahead and suddenly his large hands wrapped around her waist, almost encircling it. He pulled and fell back on the bed, rolling her under him.

"What's this?" he asked. His nose was as much as pressed to hers, and she saw the blue eyes blaze. "I wasn't speaking of you watching archers."

"Oh?" she asked innocently. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest. "But I am fond of archery. I lost my skill because of my hands, but I still practise. What would you have me watch?"

"You are to share a meal with myself and my kin while watching the Games and leading clever conversations," he said. "You are _not_ to admire my nephew's performances."

"If they are worthy of admiration, I will appreciate them," Eorwyn said and jerked her chin up. She couldn't believe she was involved in an insubordinate banter - with a King! But then she remembered that she was as much as his Queen now, and, thus, his equal! The thought was inconceivable and required many hours of consideration - but at the moment she needed to stand her ground. "Is my lord intending to dictate my thoughts and feelings? Because I doubt such endeavour will result in success."

He hummed and studied her face. Some sort of fire glowed in the depth of his darkened eyes.

"And aye, I have always admired the Dwarven physique, especially the girth and the strength of your upper bodies," Eorwyn murmured and couldn't help but brush her palms to his scorching skin. He was looming over her, supporting himself on his straight arms, and muscles bulged on them and on his chest. Her fingers curled as if without her will.

A knock to the back door of his bedchamber made her jerk.

"My lord, it's five minutes before the fifth bell," Steward Nyr's voice came. "Is there anything you would like me to receive?"

Eorwyn floundered and as much as rolled off the bed. She rushed to the door and opened it hastily.

"Good morning, Master Eorwyn." The manservant's tone was perfect mundane. "Shall I escort you to the Outer Halls?"

"Morning, and aye please," Eorwyn squeaked.

"Master Eorwyn," the King's called, and she twirled on one spot and looked at him.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, a cover thrown over his lower half. One eyebrow was cocked sardonically, and Eorwyn's cheeks flamed up. Obviously, Steward Nyr had known what the purpose of her meetings with the King was, but such lack of discretion was endlessly uncomfortable for her.

"Shall I see you at the Grounds right after the eighth bell? There is a seat reserved for you in the Grandstand."

"Aye, my lord. Thank you… my lord," Eorwyn mumbled and rushed to the door.

She could hear the King chuckle behind her, and she as much as ran by the manservant.

* * *

She had been so agitated by the morning conversation and by what the King's manservant had witnessed, that it was only when she'd arrived at the doorstep of her room did she remember what had happened between her and Nis the night before. Eorwyn froze with her hand lifted to open the door.

The King hadn't understood her anguish - and she had chosen not to continue the talk with him. Perhaps, she thought, men couldn't empathise in such matters, and he especially could hardly imagine being in her place. He was certain in his thoughts and actions; he knew where he stood and what he was to do. She was Eorwyn, an undeserving girl of Men who had somehow usurped the throne of Erebor. He was going to marry a woman he loved - as bewildering as this idea still seemed to Eorwyn. She, on the other hand, had been rejected by one of her only two friends as soon as she had spoken up. She dreaded the derision and anger of others she'd have to face when their betrothal was announced.

And now she was supposed to come into her rooms and look Nis in the eye - her rooms that had become, for the first time in her life, her safe haven, her place of rest and comfort... her _home_.


	67. Chickens and Honeybees

Eorwyn pushed the door open and slowly came in. The rooms seemed to be quiet, and she dashed towards her bedroom. She closed the door behind her and started quickly gathering her belongings. She needed to have them in a sack, so that after she found a better dwelling she could ask an attendant to come and take her effects. Meanwhile, she was quickly going in her mind through the silver she had. Now, with her wages as the emissary and as Master Svuir's apprentice, she could afford apartments that she wouldn't have to share, even though she'd given up her tutoring before leaving for Esgaroth.

She heard a knock, and before she answered Ada rushed into the room.

"Are you back, little– What are you doing?" the Dwarf asked looking at Eorwyn's scanty wardrobe scattered on her bed.

Eorwyn straightened up and stared at the maiden. Ada was looking around her now, and Eorwyn scrutinised her face trying to guess whether the Dwarf _knew._

"Eorwyn, are you– Are you leaving?" Ada asked.

"Aye," Eorwyn breathed out.

"Why?" Ada asked. "What happened? Oh! Is your Dwarf taking you into his halls already?!" Ada squealed and pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Have you– eloped?! Have you had the Indenture already?! Is that where you went yesterday?"

"Oh, Maiar help me," Eorwyn whispered.

She stood taut like a bow string, her arms along her body, her hands fisted. It seemed the longer she stayed silent, the worse the situation was getting.

"Well, who is he then?!" Ada as much as bobbed on her spot. "_Now_ you can tell me."

"I'm not going to his halls!" Eorwyn blurted out. "We haven't had the Indenture, and it's– It's complicated. And I won't tell you who he is! You can ask Nis when I'm gone."

Suddenly tears burnt her eyes, and Eorwyn drew a shuddered breath. Ada's face dropped.

"What?" Ada looked confused now. "I don't understand."

Eorwyn turned away from the girl and started hastily folding her undergarments.

"Eorwyn..."

Ada stepped closer, and Eorwyn slouched, still hiding her face.

"What's wrong, little bird? Has something happened between you two? And what's that about Nis? She's been odd this morning, left to the market without me. I know she can be prudish sometimes, but I still thought we would all go to the Games together, and–"

"I need to pack, Ada," Eorwyn said in a hollow voice.

"But– Are you sure?" Ada waited, but Eorwyn had nothing to say to her. "Well, I see," Ada said. "It's alright, of course. If you don't want to live with us, it's alright. And it's long overdue, after all. You aren't an apprentice anymore, but I just thought we had so much fun–"

Eorwyn felt as if something painfully shuttered in her chest, and she turned sharply.

"I am King Thorin's lover," she said. It came out much louder than she intended. "It's King Thorin… the man I've spent the last two nights? It's him. And he's going to marry me!" She was almost screaming now. "So, go ahead, tell me, how disappointed you are! Tell me that I'm no Dwarf and that I don't deserve to be his wife, and that I'll be polluting the blood of Durin if we ever to have a child, and–"

"Stop!" Ada screamed in her face, just as loudly, and Eorwyn winced away from the girl's distorted face.

Ada was almost twice as wide as Eorwyn, the girl suddenly thought. She took a step back - but then she realised it was anguish, and not anger, that twisted Ada's features.

"What are you about, you clot?! Why would I say such horrible things to you?!" Ada shook her head in bewilderment. "I think– Wait, I don't know what I think. I just– King Thorin? Truly?" Ada exhaled some long phrase in Khuzdul. "By Durin's beard, Thorin Oakenshield..."

Eorwyn stood, quaking head to toe. And then Ada suddenly sat down - except there was no chair behind her, and first she bumped into the table, and then awkwardly slid, flailed her arms, and finally landed on Eorwyn's bed right on top of her chicken embroidered cloak.

"King Thorin," Ada repeated and then slowly lifted her eyes at Eorwyn.

And then a wide grin bloomed on her face.

"Mahal be merciful, you're such a _bintas! _The King himself! Well done, birdie!" She flailed her arms again and then heartily clapped her palms to her thighs. "I knew you could get anyone, but still… the King himself!" Suddenly she started giggling. "Oh I see now! All that talk of beards and thighs and that blush on your cheeks yesterday morning! Look at yourself now, your hair is like a mop! I've heard of so called 'morning glowing mane,' but I have to say yours is especially–"

"You aren't angry with me," Eorwyn exhaled and sat heavily on the other end of the bed.

"Why would I be? I'm jealous like a troll, but angry? I mean, I've seen him on the grounds! And I've heard him sing! You couldn't have done better!"

"I'll be your Queen, Ada," Eorwyn said slowly, still not sure the Dwarf understood the gravity of the situation.

"Excellent. We need a clever one who can handle diplomacy and deal with the trade." Ada shrugged and then looked at Eorwyn's, no doubt, shocked face. "What? I know I'm mostly preoccupied with the man's looks and what happens between the sheets, but I'm not that dim. I know a marriage comes with responsibilities, and you'll have plenty, but everyone knows how honourable and generous he is. He'll be a good companion to you. You already know numbers and diplomacy. You'll just need to polish your knowledge of Dwarven customs, but that's just a bit of education. You'll learn in no time."

Eorwyn threw herself ahead, her arms around Ada's neck. Sobs erupted out of her, and she allowed herself to cry.

"Why are you crying?" Ada asked but embraced her in return nonetheless. "Oh wait, I think I just understood. Nis… Did she– Oh Mahal." She squeezed Eorwyn tighter and patted her back. "It's alright, little bird. Oh what an imbecile she is. I'm so very sorry..."

"She didn't– she wasn't rude or cruel," Eorwyn muttered. "She was just so surprised, and she just couldn't–"

"Aye, she was the same when you and Amri–" Ada stopped herself, and Eorwyn moved away and wiped her tears hurriedly.

"When I and Amri were courting... Was she against it as well?"

"Not so much against it, but it took her some time to accept it. She's just a bit old-fashioned, you see." Ada shrugged again. "She's lord Gloin's niece, did you know? A very old family, very close to the royal line, and a bit stuck in their ways they are. She'll come around."

"It's just she said exactly what I'd always feared people would say," Eorwyn said mournfully.

"Well, _I_ am not saying it. Why do you think others will?" Ada frowned. "And it's not because I'm a clot as Nis says. It's just I've given it some thought, you see. When Amri told us that his clan married women of Men, I started thinking then, why not? After all, we aren't that different. As long as a couple is happy together, and it works, you know, carnally, why not?"

Eorwyn smiled.

"In actuality, I've even been thinking, say, it didn't work carnally," Ada was now being carried away by her musings. "If people love each other but don't lie together, it's quite alright too. I probably would be sad to love a man who didn't want to… you know..."

Eorwyn couldn't hold back a small weak laugh.

"But hopefully that won't happen to me." Ada once again was in high spirits. "I hope I'm just as disheveled and tired in the morning as you are right now." Ada glanced behind her on the bed. "Are you sure you want to leave? I see now what upset you, but maybe Nis can just… shut her gob and accept that he loves you and you love him."

"I still want to find different rooms," Eorwyn said. "There are circumstances… It's hard to explain but we can't announce it just yet. But for now, I'm just so very happy you didn't condemn me, Ada!" She gave her friend another firm embrace.

The Dwarf patted her back again.

"Still, I'll be sad to see you gone," she said quietly. "Will you go to the Grounds with me at least?"

"I will," Eorwyn said with a smile.

"Then go clean up and let's have breakfast," Ada said, released Eorwyn, and jumped off the bed. "Oh, I crinkled your cloak! Oh… I just realised where the cloak came from!"

She leaned and brushed her palm to the velvet gently.

"_Kharhzunsh,_" she murmured.

Eorwyn laughed. "Aye, _mamur kharhzunsh._"

"Little chicken?" Ada asked in confusion and then her face lit up. "'My little hen'! Is that what he calls you?! Oh Mahal help me, it's so delectable! I hope my _halâwtunz_ calls me something equally delightful!"

"What does it mean, this word? _Halâwtunz,_" Eorwyn tried the word as if tasting it on her lips. She wasn't sure she pronounced it right.

"'Honeybee,' it's a pet name for one's sweetheart many Dwarves use." Ada snickered. "Although I just can't see King Thorin being called such. He's just not... plump and fluffy enough."

Both girls snorted.

"You'll need something better," Ada said.

"Can you teach me?" Eorwyn asked greedily, and the Dwarven maiden squealed loudly.

"Aye! Oh that's so much fun!" Ada clapped her hands. "I need to think about it, but I'll definitely teach you a few things. We'll talk during the meal and while we walk to the grounds, but before it you'll have to explain to me why we are keeping your courtship a secret."

Eorwyn nodded.

"I have to say, I think it's only more exciting this way!" Ada said, and Eorwyn felt even more relief flood her. She'd felt perhaps she had been deceiving herself that she enjoyed the clandestine affair because she was simply scared of the people finding out. But Ada was right, it was so very exciting!

"I bet you simply love sneaking into his rooms!" Ada said. "Oh I only just understood, it was _you_! You were the woman escaping his halls, not lady Turith. Oh Mahal, that's so funny how everyone immediately believed it."

Eorwyn made a mental note to warn Ada that those were not the last false rumours that would surround King Thorin's halls and 'women escaping them.'

"Oh I have thought of something," Ada said heading for the door. "You think of an endearment you'd use in your tongue, and I'll translate or find an appropriate equivalent. But for now," she said with a cheeky grin, "You could use _lanasâl_, which is 'my lover.' It's a bit of a naughty one, implies that you two are fooling around and hiding it... which is true in your case."

Both girls laughed, and Ada went out of Eorwyn's room.


	68. The Silver Prince

Out of the safety of her - now former - room, Eorwyn tensed. They were walking towards the Capital Grounds, Ada chatting about the sports, and the fighters whose careers she'd been following, and what events were to take place during the day. Thankfully, the girl didn't require answers, so Eorwyn could just listen while mentally preparing for what lay ahead. She still had an hour before she was to take her seat in the Grandstand.

"We should find some nosh first," Ada said and confidently headed towards a stand with _sadzkassab - _sweet little cakes, a popular treat among Dwarven younglings, rich and buttery. Eorwyn heard they originated in the West, in the lands of the Halflings. She'd never had them before. She wasn't particularly fond of caraway seeds, which was what gave the seedcakes their particularly flavour and the name.

Ada bought three for each of them, and a mug of hot coffee travelled into Eorwyn's hand.

"Eat, little bird, you need to regain your strength," Ada said with a wink.

Eorwyn gave her a feigned reproachful look, and Ada snorted.

"Oh you can't imagine how hard I have to bite my tongue not to ask a myriad of questions, little bird." Ada shook her head. "And trust me, it's not out of the reverence towards your… 'friend' that I'm not prying." Ada threw a pointed look towards the pathway that led to the Capital Grounds. "But I don't want to be insensitive and make you uncomfortable. No matter what Nis says I'm not that thick-skulled."

Eorwyn smiled with gratitude.

"Even if _he _weren't who he is, I'd still stay out of it," Ada announced and nodded haughtily.

Eorwyn quickly bit into a cake - just in case Ada's consideration didn't last. A familiar Guild Master walked by and gave her a respectful bow. She returned it.

"Oh I wish I could go with you. You are invited to the Grandstand, aren't you?" Ada asked chewing her pastry.

Eorwyn nodded and swallowed with difficulty. Just as she expected she didn't enjoy the flavour, but it wasn't the sickly sweetness that made her queasy.

"What do people usually do in the Grandstand?" she asked.

"Do? There's nothing to do. You just sit and watch. It's only different from any other seats in giving a better view of the arenas." Ada shrugged. "Usually you can only see two, maybe three, at a time. But from the Grandstand? You'll be able to see wrestlers, and archers, and even axe throwers! Oh I'm so envious!"

Ada was finishing her second cake and threw Eorwyn a surprised look. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"I'm full, thank you," Eorwyn said and wrapped two and a half cakes in her handkerchief. "I'll finish them later. Could we walk around a bit before I go to the Stand?"

"Of course!" Ada hastily stuffed the rest of her food into her mouth. "Come!" she muttered with her cheeks full and pulled Eorwyn by the sleeve.

To Ada's disappointment, the axe throwers contest hadn't started yet, so they went to the archery grounds. There, the preparations weren't finished yet either, but a few archers were already wandering the grounds, observing the targets and dummies being rolled out.

A small group of archers - and most likely, those more interested in the participants and not the craft - surrounded Prince Kili who was standing near a table with several bows and sets of arrows displayed on a rich velvet cloth.

"Oh it's _Irakdashat Batshur_," Ada exhaled and grabbed Eorwyn's upper arm painfully. "You're a High Emissary, you're more than deserving a small chat with a prince! Let's go!"

"No, Ada, we can't!" Eorwyn exclaimed and twitched in the girl's grasp.

"Oh c'mon, little bird, you're as much as his family now! Surely–"

"Ada, I've just explained to you that no one is supposed to know!" Eorwyn hissed. "No one, you understand!"

"Aye, aye, I know, but you're still of the high standing! You're invited to the Grandstand, for Mahal's sake. C'mon!"

Ada started marching towards the group, as much as dragging Eorwyn after her.

"Ada, Ada, we can't–"

They were too close now so she couldn't raise her voice, but she continued to resist. Finally she managed to twist out of the Dwarf maiden's grip... when Prince Kili's jolly voice made her dig her heels into the sand of the grounds.

"Master Eorwyn!"

She slowly turned around pulling up a polite smile.

"_Irakdashat Batshur,_" she greeted him.

She always found his title - 'Silver Nephew' - quite appropriate. It meant that he was a younger son in the royal bloodline, but in her mind it went well with his brother being _Irakdashat Biriz - _'Golden Nephew' - for the colouring of the older prince's hair and his smile as bright and warm as sunshine.

"What a pleasure to see you!" He stretched his hand to her, and she had no choice but to place hers onto his wide scorching palm. "Come, have a look at these! They are by Master Hervór. She's the most renowned arrowmaster of Erebor and the Blue Mountains."

Eorwyn stepped closer, painfully aware of the contact of their hands that he hadn't relinquished.

"This is Ada, daughter of Dagur, my friend," she introduced Ada who was near them in an instant.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mistress Ada." The prince smiled even wider. Ada blushed.

Eorwyn wondered if it were appropriate to pull out her left hand out of his right one. He was now talking about the weapons on display and gesturing around them with his free hand. Ada, who as Eorwyn knew had neither talent nor passion for archery, feigned the most ardent interest.

"And this one! This one is a marvel!" The Prince picked up a bow and lifted it to Eorwyn's eyes. "Look at this shelf! It's like a curve of the most graceful hip!"

Ada giggled together with several others. A few Dwarves leaned closer to look. A young Dwarf in an apprentice apron gave them all a proud look. Eorwyn assumed it was Master Hervór's understudy.

"Would you like to give it a try?" the Prince asked Eorwyn, and she shook her head.

"I'd rather–" she started, but he interrupted her.

"You should! It's about your size! And it's light! You should be able to manage!"

"I'm afraid–" she tried to politely refuse again, panic rising.

At this stage, to her anxious senses, his skin was as much as burning her. He'd also moved closer to her now. There was nothing threatening or in any way unpleasant about his manner, but Eorwyn felt her body starting to tremble. She could almost feel - or imagined that she could - the heat of his body brush at her skin, and she could catch the fragrant aroma of oils and pipeweed that radiated from him. None of it was disagreeable and shouldn't repel her - but some sort of unease flooded her.

"Take it!" he said with a laugh. "It won't bite!"

Her right hand rose as if against her will, and the grip lay in her palm. She awkwardly closed her disobedient fingers around it.

"I shoot with my left," she said. Her voice was raspy.

"Pardon?" he asked distractedly. He was choosing an arrow for her now. Her left hand was still his prisoner.

"I shoot– My right hand is wounded. I had to learn to switch sides," she said.

He looked up at her, and finally she saw in his eyes he understood. He let her off her fingers and looked down at her hands. She fought the desire to hide them - and the white jagged scars covering her skin - behind her back.

"I'm not at all good," she whispered.

"Oh, I wasn't aware," he muttered.

Eorwyn felt her ears and cheeks flame up. She could feel the curiosity in the gaze of the Dwarves around them.

"Perhaps, some other time then?" he said awkwardly and stretched his hand to her to take the bow back.

From the corner of her eye she caught a movement: one of the Dwarven maiden near her leaned to her friend's ear, probably to make a comment on the interaction. Breath caught in Eorwyn's throat.

"Aye, perhaps, some other day," Ada cut in. "We really should be going. Master Eorwyn is expected–"

"Perhaps, you should teach me," Eorwyn blurted out, louder than necessary - to seize control of the situation.

She was the betrothed of the King Under the Mountain, given an unrevealed one. She needed to preserve decorum!

"I have sustained injuries in my hands, the right one is affected more. I'm training with my left these days. I've heard many praises to your skill and talent, _Kili_ _uzbad-dashat_." She internally praised herself on remembering his official title. "I'd be endlessly grateful for a demonstration and a few tips."

Tension left the Prince's features, and he smiled.

"With pleasure!"

He picked up an arrow from the table, moved the bow into his right, and started walking towards the targets. Eorwyn followed, Ada walking after her.

"I can't wait!" someone said Eorwyn's back, but she wasn't listening. She kept walking, breathing slowly, hoping no one noticed how unnerving this exchange had been for her.

She reminded herself she might as well enjoy the anonymity and the lack of public interest towards her for the time being. There were much more taxing and demanding conversations ahead of her - and she would have to do better.


	69. Not What He Wanted

**Note: I don't seem to be getting any reads/reviews for the previous chapter. Have you lost interest in the story, my darlings, or there was no notification for it? Either is fine, I'm just checking :) If this story is boring you, I can always start a new one, since the point of FF is a shared enjoyment. I have a couple of ideas (Middle Earth and modern) for these two. We can always switch ;)**

**Love you,**

**K. xx**

* * *

When Thorin entered the Grandstand, Dis and Fili were already there, and some sort of commotion surrounded his little bookkeeper. She stood taut, and her face set in one of those haughty grimaces of hers. Many moons ago when she had been nothing but a child of Men to him he learnt such was her mask when she was uneasy. Dis was fretting, he understood. Fili was smiling softly as if apologising for his Mother.

"Please, you have to sit with us." Dis' voice rang. Then she stepped closer to the bookkeeper, and the latter twitched as if planning to jump aside and to shield herself with a chair that Dis was pointing at.

"Uncle," Fili greeted warmly. "Mother is terrifying Master Eorwyn." He chuckled.

"Brother, tell our guest to sit with us! She's trying to hide in the back row." Dis waved her hands in the air. "She won't see much from there."

Thorin lifted an eyebrow. It was quite obvious _what_ Dis had in mind: the tallest chair on the best spot was obviously for him. Dis was to sit near him, next was Kili, and then an empty chair was waiting for his bookkeeper. Fili was to sit to her left, locking her in place - next to Kili. Thorin thought back at his own ridiculous jesting this morning. He'd been simply teasing his little hen. Now? The joke seemed hardly entertaining.

"I assumed Master Eorwyn's seat was near Balin," Thorin said. "Next to Dwalin."

"Nonsense!" Dis huffed. "Surely, Master Eorwyn would prefer to actually see some of the contestants, so I say–"

"I say, Master Eorwyn chooses her own spot," Thorin interrupted sharply.

He wanted her to sit with him. He wanted to catch the smell of her perfume, to discuss the games they'd watch with her, to see her pick at the food he'd ordered for while they sat in the stand. He hadn't seen her for just a few hours, but he missed her terribly.

"Master Eorwyn, surely you'll be more comfortable in the first row." Dis apparently wouldn't give up that easily. She gave Eorwyn a coy smile.

At that moment Kili walked into the stand.

"Ah, Master Eorwyn! We meet again," he said with a short laugh. "I've put aside some of those arrows we've discussed."

Thorin sharply turned and looked at the bookkeeper. Her cheeks seemed to be burning, and he saw her clench her fists.

"Come on, sit with me!" Kili was all smiles. "I see Mother is shamefully usurping you! It's no use fighting it. Just do as she says."

Eorwyn's eyes widened, and she threw Thorin an anxious look. He felt irritated. She was supposed to speak up for herself!

"Perhaps, Master Eorwyn–" Fili started, and Thorin snapped.

"Or you can sit with me," he as much as barked.

He simply didn't know what came over him! They'd just discussed being discreet, and here he was barging in. He could hear himself how abrupt his tone was. Everyone looked at him, expressions varying from confused to - in her case - as much as panicked.

"Sit with me, Master Eorwyn." He cursed internally. What was he doing?! Anger bubbled up even more, and he added insult to injury. "And you, Dis, can either take the spot between your sons, or go join Dwalin."

Dis blanched. Thorin felt only more irked. What did the woman expect? It had been impossible to miss her infatuated looks and maudlin sighs.

The bookkeeper dashed to the second largest chair and quickly sat down. He had gotten what he wanted, she was now sitting with him - but obviously now his mood had been spoilt. He stomped to his chair.

At that moment Dwalin, Balin, and Gloin joined them and took the seats in the second row. And then Fili sat next to Eorwyn, and Kili sat near him - leaving their Mother stranded, with the choice of sitting on the very end, which she hated, or joining the sons of Fundin in the second row. Dis plopped onto the chair next to Kili, her lips pursed and eyes shooting daggers.

His nephews immediately started a lively conversation around Mistress Mina, the famous wrestler and dagger thrower. The woman, apparently, was of the beauty only comparable to that of Lady Ulla, the legendary warrior in the court of Thorin I. Thorin kept his eyes trained on the grounds underneath, where the last preparations before the fights were almost complete. The bookkeeper sat utterly still near him, hardly breathing it seemed. That made his mood even more foul.

"Oi, little bee!" Dwalin's voice came from behind them, and she turned around.

Thorin saw a small smile tremble on her lips.

"Master Dwalin," she greeted him, and then looked at his brother. "Master Balin."

"Master Eorwyn, it's such a joy to see you join us. I hope you enjoy the festivities."

Thorin ground his teeth. The old man was surely full of niceties today. And what was this about a 'little bee?' It seemed she was familiar and friendly with all of them - while sitting as far as possible from him on her chair. She probably would have moved it even further, had it been lighter.

"So, you watched archery. Your favourite, if I recall correctly," he said to her. His voice came out darker and more venomous than he intended.

She pressed her head into her shoulders.

"It hadn't yet started when we went to the range," she said hardly audibly.

"We've seen the new arrows from Master Hervór's shop, though," Kili cut in.

_We?!_

Thorin noted the 'we' and looked at his nephew. The boy seemed to be in rather high spirits. He was already chewing, grinning from ear to ear - and then the prince met Eorwyn's eyes and gave her a wink.

"Like I said, I've put some aside for you. I'll bring them to the range when we meet to train," he said to her.

"I'd hate to lose or break one of them," she said meekly. "They are too good for my clumsy hands. I'll bring some of the old ones I told you about, the ones from Esgaroth."

They were both leaning ahead, talking to each other over Fili's head. Thorin squeezed the mug in his fist.

"Why don't you switch spots with me, you dimwit?" Fili said. He clapped his hand to Kili's shoulder and gave him a push.

"Aye, Kili, you're being rude," Dis chimed in, apparently having recovered her dignity - and her eagerness.

Thorin clenched his jaw.

"Nah, I need to see Master Balin about something," Kili announced, jumped to his feet, and gave Fili an equally boisterous smack to the shoulder. "You entertain our guest. I've heard she's fond of blondes."

Fili guffawed, but his idiotic grin fell when he saw her face. She looked mortified.

"Pardon my brother, Master Eorwyn," Fili said. "He'd been dropped on his head as a youngling. Repeatedly."

She laughed and seemingly relaxed in her chair.

"Have some food," Fili added. "Are you fond of Dwarven cuisine? I know you're now an Erebor dweller, but perhaps it's too flavourful."

"I enjoy the savoury dishes," she said. "And the breads."

"Not a sweet tooth, are you?" Fili asked and put down the tray with sweets he'd raised to her.

She shook her head. "Not particularly. I quite enjoy the sweet currant bread, though."

Thorin picked up his mug again and took a large gulp of his ale. Were there any more of her intimate secrets she was intending to share with his nephews? He, Thorin knew she slept on her side, one fist pushed under her cheek. Was she planning to discuss _that_ with Fili as well?

And what was about her fancying blondes? Did Kili know something Thorin didn't? That boy she'd been in association with all those months ago - was he blonde? Thorin couldn't recall.

Fili and the bookkeeper were now engaged in watching the first axe throwers in the arena. She obviously knew nothing of the craft, Fili was only happy to educate her. He was pointing, explaining, and she listened to him intently, her eyes widened, and lips softly parted. Fili's voice was growing louder and more and more enthusiastic. Clearly, the greenhorn was flattered by the attention.

At some point something surprising happened on the arena - Thorin was pretending to watch the one nearby, with wrestlers warming up - and she gasped and grabbed Fili's upper arm. He looked at her surprised, and she jerked her hand away from him, muttering something, probably one of her usual apologies. And then he covered her hand on the railing with his palm and patted it.

In the second row Kili burst into loud laughter. Thorin looked over his shoulder, and saw the cad and Old Balin whispering conspiratorial to each other and throwing glances, it seemed, at Fili and the bookkeeper.

Thorin was about reaching the end of his patience, when one of the axe throwers called to them from the grounds, and Fili excused himself. He walked out of the stand, and Dis rose from her seat. If she thought anyone believed her pretending to be after the cheese pastries and not the company of a certain Dwarf near Balin, she was cruelly mistaken.

"I learnt a new word today."

He whipped his head and looked at the bookkeeper. For a second he doubted the whisper had come from her, she sat so straight and her face was so composed. Her eyes followed the wrestlers.

And then she slowly turned and met his eyes.

"Lanasâl."

Her red lips wrapped around the endearment, and he wondered if she knew how inappropriate the term was. And then he saw her tongue dart and wet the lips - he suddenly remembered them greedily dance on his throat - and he understood she knew exactly how indecent it was.


	70. The Golden One

After the first round of wrestling bouts, the King rose and walked out of the Grandstand. He hadn't said a word to her after her flirtatious attempt to impress him with her knowledge of Khuzdul, so Eorwyn assumed she'd overstepped. It only confirmed to Eorwyn that her watching the Games in the Grandstand had been quite an awful idea. She simply couldn't understand why he'd insisted on her sitting with him. Hadn't they discussed that their association was to be kept secret? She'd of course preferred the company of Balin and Dwalin and Gloin, but she could see that lady Dis had had quite different plans, which was just as confusing. Eorwyn couldn't believe the thought but it seemed that the King's jest in the morning… hadn't been fully a jest!

"Would you like to have a small walk with me?" prince Fili said behind her, and she looked at him over her shoulder. "They are showing the weapons that the wrestlers will be using in the next bouts of sparring. Some of them are quite curious."

Eorwyn had no way to refuse politely, so she nodded and got up. They walked down the spiral staircase leading to the grounds.

"And what is your weapon of choice?" His question shook her out of her thoughts.

"Pardon?"

"Your weapon of choice. I presume you've had some training." Sincere interest was written on his face.

Eorwyn blushed.

"I've had none. If you remember, I'd been hiding my identity, but even in the male disguise I spent most of my time working with books and numbers. I'd been a rather decent archer, but as I told you brother just now, my hands have been injured." Eorwyn sighed. "I'm afraid I'm quite useless when it comes to defending my life."

"Thankfully you don't have to," he said lightly. "The walls of Erebor will protect you."

His face then lit up with some sort of an idea, and Eorwyn tensed. He had exactly the same expression as his brother a few minutes ago.

"I should train you!" he announced, and Eorwyn suppressed another sigh. She'd been right, it seems. He had the same idea. "I've been wounded as well, as you can see." He was limping, she had noticed of course, but she knew he was healing well. "So I train twice as much as before. And you should too! We can turn you into a mighty warrior just in a few moons!"

Eorwyn couldn't say the prospect attracted her.

"Have a look around," he continued to press. "Look at the weapons the craftsmen are displaying. Maybe something catches your eye. An axe or a staff. Oh! Perhaps a light mace? I myself prefer blades, but perhaps we can find the right balance between the weight and the velocity for you, and–"

He continued rattling, Eorwyn nodded politely while pretending to look at the weapons. To be honest, his brother's offer to shoot at the range with her 'every other day' - though somewhat excessively eager - seemed like a better option.

"–and I remember the weapons of the Men of Esgaroth," he continued, chuckling. "What rubbish they were!" he scoffed. "Heavy, unbalanced! What did Men fight with in the lands where you grew up?"

"They were merchants, fur traders. Some trained in archery, like me, but in most cases mercenaries were hired, to protect the companies on the road."

Eorwyn didn't want to speak of it. The anguish of seeing her past embodied in the Man currently locked up in a warehouse in Dale was still fresh on her mind - and lay heavily on her heart. The night before the King assured her she needed not to worry. She was grateful. All she wanted was to forget and to go on with her life.

"Master Fili!" a young voice rang a few rows away from them. They were walking between benches of smiths and blademasters, placed in a large circle around the arena.

Eorwyn saw a young girl approach. She was utterly charming, with honey coloured thick curls bouncing around her face. She wore the apron of the apprentice of the meadmakers guild.

"Oh… morning," the prince muttered, and Eorwyn threw him a curious look.

Apparently the heir of Durin blushed. Though blonde, he had a ginger beard. So, just like her, he had pale skin, which meant it coloured easily. To think of it, his Uncle blushed too - his cheekbones flamed up, to be precise. Eorwyn felt heat lick under her collar at the memories exactly what sort of activities and... positions could produce such an effect.

"Master Eorwyn, allow me to introduce you to Mistress Billa, daughter of Brori. We… spar together."

Apparently, not only he blushed, he also was capable of stuttering and muttering. Eorwyn's mood immediately improved. It was nice to know she wasn't the only one who was awkward and tongue-tied around the one she was infatuated with.

"Morning, Master Eorwyn," the girl said with a quick bow, her eyes on prince Fili's face. "Have you heard the latest babble about the King?!"

Fili's eyes shot to Eorwyn.

"Surely, we could discuss–" he started, but Mistress Billa interrupted him.

"His liaison with Mistress Algun has been rekindled! She spent the night in his halls!" The voice of the girl rang excitedly. "Some say it had never ceased and it was her, not lady Turith who'd been seen leaving his rooms before! Others claim that it was the latter! Can you believe it?! But if they both have spent a night in his room–"

"I'm sure Master Eorwyn wouldn't want to listen to all this hearsay," the prince said firmly. "And what a malicious slander! The King would never be so dishonest."

Mistress Billa gave him a pouty look.

"You seemed more than inclined to discuss these rumours to no end yesterday," she pointed out.

The prince blushed even more furiously. It made Eorwyn feel only jollier: so, he was also a gossip. Somehow it seemed to her quite plausible.

"I simply say–" he started stammering.

"You simply say that this is a conversation not worthy of the presence of a High Emissary, and should be reserved to simple apprentices. Be it your way," Mistress Billa jeered, turned on her heel, and marched away.

Eorwyn felt almost sorry for the prince. Cleary, he'd just disappointed his palaver companion. Eorwyn looked at his sour grimace and giggled.

"You have to forgive her," he said bleakly. "She's… quite young."

"It's alright," Eorwyn said merrily. "Shall we look at the weapons?"

Presently, spending the day in the company of the royalty didn't seem as intimidating to her. Just a few minutes ago she had felt out of place. She'd kept reminding herself that she was the Trade Chief of the Kingdom of Men, she had every right to spend a day in the Grandstand with the Erebor royalty - and yet it had still felt rather daunting. Being reminded that said royalty was just beings like her - with silly insecurities and nonsensical pursuits like gossip and trying not to follow one's paramour with one's eyes wherever they went - added a jointy bounce to her step.

"Bah, what are you doing looking at the laughable cudgels?!" prince Kili said approaching them. "Tell me you haven't betrayed our sacred art of archery for the sake of these… logs!"

He waved his left hand above a row of clubs. The Dwarf behind the bench gave him a glare. Kili's right hand was occupied with a large pie, which he kept biting into. The brothers started bickering between themselves, and Eorwyn decided it was her chance to escape and enjoy some solitude. A few minutes of silence alone with her thoughts would be most pleasurable.

She quietly edged away from the princes, who were too engaged to notice, and walked along the row of the guild masters with their creations arranged in front of them on benches and tables. There were enough viewers for her to stay mostly overlooked.

She then saw a cart selling some food, and she idly walked up to it. She wasn't hungry but standing in front of the cart gave her an excuse to turn her back to the crowd.

"Anything I can offer you, my lady?" the merchant asked, and Eorwyn shook her head with a forced smile.

She immediately felt guilty for stopping by - and right after she as much as laughed at herself. What an inconvenient temperament she had - always feeling guilty for the most innocent deeds. To think of it, she'd committed transgressions much graver than pretending to look at the sweet dough twists without intending to purchase any. She'd been having an affaire with the King!

"They are quite good. You should try one," a voice came from behind her.

Eorwyn startled.

"Oh morning," she mumbled to Mistress Algun and then gave out a shaky laugh. "Pardon me, Mistress Algun, people seem to be sneaking up on me all morning today. Perhaps I should start watching over my shoulder." She laughed again. "I'm not hungry, to be honest. Prince FIli has been trying to fatten me up all morning in the Grandstand."

"You've been invited to the Grandstand?" The needlemaster's eyebrows jumped up. "Ah, forgive me, I'm forgetting about your position. Oh, you should have come to me for a better dress! Although, I see you at least wear my creation."

She pointed at Eorwyn's cloak.

"Forgive me, but I can't help myself!" she exclaimed and stepped closer to Eorwyn, who immediately felt tense. "I have to ask. Why chickens? What is the significance?"


	71. Chickens and Chats

Eorwyn laughed awkwardly.

"It's just… a silly jest. Something King Thorin had said a long time ago, and now it's just a jest– Well, not that the King can be silly–" She stumbled and cleared her throat. "A long time ago it had somehow come to me saying that I was no plump hen. And so he– he ordered me a cloak with chickens on it."

Mistress Algun stood staring at Eorwyn, who now felt even more ennerved.

"Just his idea of humour, I suppose," she muttered.

"I feel that I know King Thorin quite well, and I can't say I imagine him having a sense of humour– _this _sort of sense of humour," the needlemaster said slowly, her eyes roaming Eorwyn. "It's quite an intimate metaphor, I have to say."

Eorwyn felt blood rush away from her face.

"What is?" she rasped out.

"Comparing a woman to a bird. In Dwarven culture it's quite a gesture. My Aunt and grandmother call me _kurkaruke_, 'a little raven.' For the hair colour and to honour our clan's insignia. Comparing you to a hen–"

"He didn't!" Eorwyn exclaimed, hearing herself how panicked her voice sounded. "I said I was no plump hen, and he just–" She couldn't come up with anything else to say and shied away.

"You see, Master Eorwyn," the needlemaster started, as if carefully choosing words. "It's possible that there could be something you don't see in the King's attitude towards you, some elements that you can't decode because you aren't familiar with the intricacies of the Dwarven relationships," Mistress Algun said and stepped closer.

Eorwyn's heart sank. Not only it was possible that the needlemaster had guessed something, the thought of which made Eorwyn draw a sharp breath - but it also seemed she was intending to warn Eorwyn. And this also filled Eorwyn with fast growing irritation. The behaviour was too similar to Amri's to Eorwyn's liking.

"Giving you a pet name - if it has happened of course - and buying you gifts," Mistress Algun continued, "and inviting you to the Grandstand… and now I see you in the company of the princes–"

"Mistress Algun! What a pleasure!" Prince Kili, it seemed, had finally stopped bickering with his brother, and now Eorwyn and her conversation companion were observed. The dark-haired prince sauntered to them. "You look radiant today! You must have had a restful and invigorating night!"

"Kili!" the second prince hissed behind him as if in warning.

Eorwyn quickly looked between the two young men in confusion - and then she remembered the rumours that had been spreading in Erebor, and the meadmaker's apprentice from earlier on who'd informed Prince Fili of them, and that it was indeed Mistress Algun who had allegedly been the latest visitor in the King's bedchambers.

"_Kili uzbad-dashat! _Master Fili!" Mistress Algun's face expressed the impeccable mixture of polite joy and dignity. Eorwyn suppressed an envious sigh. She could never be that confident!

"I see you aren't wearing my work." The needlemaster cocked a brow and gestured around the princes with a graceful movement of her beautiful white hand. "No long doublets, no slits on the sleeves, no arched embroidery? You clearly have not purchased these in my shop. You're attired by my rival, Master Jaspur. I'm insulted."

The princes burst into a cacophony of reassurances and excuses, all in half jest. Meanwhile, Eorwyn thought back at the dark burgundy attire the King wore today: the doublet, perfectly fitted to emphasize his stature, was longer than those of most Dwarves; there were narrow slits on the upper halves of his sleeves, showing the white silk underneath, just a peek of it, and only when he crossed his arms on his chest in his habitual gesture; and finally, the arches of the rich gold thread embroidery on his chest, carrying his distinct pattern, usually adorning most of his outer garments. The King clearly wasn't attired by Master Jaspur.

"Mistress Algun, you simply must join us in the Grandstand!" Prince Kili exclaimed and then he folded his hands in a dramatic begging gesture in front of his chest.

"I assure you it is a most unfortunate idea," Mistress Algun answered with a silver laugh.

"No, no, no argument!" The younger prince waved his hands in the air. "Amad will be so happy to see you! To say nothing of Uncle–"

"Kili!" Fili once again tried to interfere.

Mistress Algun shot the blonde prince a cheeky side glance.

"Forgive my brother," Prince Fili said and shook his head. "He knows not how to behave in proper company."

"Only more reason for me to stay away," Mistress Algun said pointedly, and one corner of her charming little mouth that reminded Eorwyn of a tight rose bud curled up in a smirk. "Less chance that some sort of a secret might get out, or some rumours might start."

Eorwyn felt rather left out - and deservingly so. She could never sustain the flirty, light banter that the needlemaster shared with the princes. Mistress Algun played her part masterfully: she wasn't denying anything, but neither she was confirming any of the hidden meaning behind the princes' suggestions and implications. If Eorwyn didn't know the truth, she'd be the first to assume that there was some sort of an inner circle joke the three Dwarves in front of her were sharing. For an instant she had to remind her dimwitted self that it was _her _who when sitting in the Grandstand near the King was harbouring the juiciest of gossips.

She assumed that no one would notice if she just walked away, and she simply did. The day had just started, and already she was exhausted. She simply couldn't understand why the King had insisted on her coming to the Grandstand; and even if she could see some sort of political prudence in it, she was bewildered that he'd insisted on her sitting with him. It would have made much more sense for her to join the sons of Fundin, based on her current position and her previous association with them. She had been put in unease by lady Dis' behaviour - but not as much as by trying to restrain herself near the King. She just couldn't quite remember how she'd behaved around him before she had to _behave._

_Oh how sweet it would be to misbehave, _she thought. _To sit closer to him, to touch his hand, to put her head on his shoulder. _She could just imagine having him so close, to let the spicy smell of his skin to caress her nose... or _to caress his skin with her nose_, her libido suggested. An untimely memory of rubbing the tip of her nose to his throat jumped to her mind. _The uneven bottom line of his beard, her lips following, sliding on his warm skin… Her hand lying on the back of his neck, under the heavy silky mane… Her other hand cupping his jaw, rough whiskers of the beard pleasantly scratching her palm…_

"Master Eorwyn!"

She exhaled, this time in almost irritation. It had been a much more rewarding pursuit - to let herself daydream, while slowly plodding back to the Grandstand - than to make herself smile politely, to turn around, and to greet yet another person calling out to her–

She froze with the aforementioned polite smile stretched on her face - and stared at the King.

"Enjoying the spectacle?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

Eorwyn blinked and looked back at what she'd been seemingly staring, while in actuality recalling kissing the King's neck. Several bare-chested wrestlers were warming up before the next bout near the arena. Their strong wide bodies glistened from sweat, thick hair covered the chests, muscles bulged on the arms and calves. They were also throwing cocky remarks to each other, bordering on crude, but still clearly amicable. A small group of maidens and lads stood nearby, gawking, giggling, and murmuring between themselves. Clearly, Eorwyn could be easily mistaken for one of them.

She hummed noncommittally.

"Have you abandoned my nephew - or both of them - for the sake of a better entertainment?" he asked, even more sardonic notes weaved in his low voice.

"They've abandoned me for the sake of Mistress Algun," she answered and shifted her weight between her feet.

"Well, they are young. What do they know?" he murmured, and Eorwyn's eyes flew to his face.

It had seemed to her he'd been displeased with something in her behaviour all morning, and she had been so concerned with preserving their secret and with keeping the decorum that it was hard to remind herself that she'd done nothing wrong, and that his vexation was his to handle and to solve. So she'd worried and she'd tormented herself - and here he was, standing in front of her, watching her intently, with some sort of dark glow in his eyes.


	72. End of Patience

**Author's note: **

**My darlings, I don't know for how long you've been with me, but if you followed me for a while, you might remember the story titled **_**Blind Carnival. **_**It was my most popular one, first on FF, then on JukePop and Inkitt. I eventually took it off all media, had it proofread and edited, and it was supposed to be published as a book on Kindle and Amazon.**

**And then I woke up yesterday and decided that these days, in these uncertain and daunting times we all could use some entertainment and some fun.**

**So, I present to you **_**Blind Carnival **_**as a free webserial you can read on my Wattpad page (the name's Katya Kolmakov). It's cheery, and light, and sexy, and it's modern Thorin and my OC, everyone simply loved John the Architect. The first chapter is posted, and I'll be updating it regularly.**

**I hope it brings you a bit of joy!**

**Stay safe, my darlings. Wash your hands. **

**Love,**

**K. xx**

**P.S. If you feel like, have a peek into my blog: kolmakov dot ca, or my writing FB page Katya Kolmakov - Author.**

* * *

"So why did you leave the Stand?" he asked.

"Prince Fili invited me to take a small walk," she answered, confusion laced into her voice.

Her eyes roamed his face, as if she was trying to decode his words. There was nothing to decode!

"Did you enjoy the walk?" he asked.

He just couldn't understand why she wasn't answering right away, why her face was dark, and why she was so tense. She'd been behaving oddly all morning - frowning, refusing the food he'd specifically ordered for her. It was as if she didn't want to be there!

He gave the whole aggravation a thought and arrived at the decision that she was hiding something. His mood was dark now as well.

"Prince Fili offered to train with me," she said flatly and looked down under her feet.

"So, now you will train with both my nephews," he grumbled. "Didn't you arrange shooting practise with Kili as well, earlier this morning?"

"Arrange?" she repeated slowly. "No, I haven't arranged it."

She looked aside, her face distant. Clearly, she wasn't interested in having a conversation with him. His irritation rose, and he caught himself clenching his jaw.

"If you were in such a need of a sparring partner, you could've asked Dwalin," he said. "He's in charge of the Erebor Training Grounds. He'd have found someone."

She finally focused her gaze on him. A crinkle between her brows grew deeper. Thorin waited but she said nothing.

"Shall we go back to the Stand?" he grumbled and looped his arm.

She continued watching his face - and now he felt almost livid.

"I think I'll walk alone," she said in the same bleak tone of hers. "Wouldn't it be suspicious if we came back together?"

"Why would it?" he gritted through his teeth.

He was still holding his arm bent mid air! _That_ was suspicious!

She tilted her head in a bird-like gesture and whispered, "You just don't understand it, do you?"

"Pardon?"

"It's just not something you can perceive, I see it now." She narrowed her eyes and studied him. "It must be the royal blood, and this confidence of yours, and–" She drew a deep breath so sharp that he couldn't help but notice how the lace jumped up in the cut of her dress.

She pushed her arm through his and started walking pulling at him firmly - but not towards the Grandstand. There was a small side passage in the West wall of the square, and she headed there. Her face expressed nothing. He followed.

She didn't go into the passage though. She stepped near a display of weapons that had been left unattended by the merchant. She looked down at the swords and then looked at him. He had to agree it would look from a distance as if they were discussing a blade's parrying capacity.

Except, she probably wouldn't be snarling through her gritted teeth if they were.

"It must be so pleasant to be so… set in your ways, so… blind and so infuriatingly sure of yourself," she hissed and suddenly her eyes flashed some mad green colour. "I can just imagine that there, in your thick Dwarven skull–"

He felt his jaw slack! _What?! 'Thick Dwarven–' what?!_

"And you just can't imagine that someone is thinking or feeling something different, and–" Her breathing caught, and she made a frustrated sound in her throat.

And then she blinked, and the grimace dropped. She slowly nodded to her thoughts, and her tongue brushed at her lips.

"Pardon me, that was unacceptable. I have forgotten myself," she said in her usual mellow voice. She pressed her fingers over her lips, and he saw another deep inhale raise her chest. She then looked into his eyes and gave him an odd melancholy smile. "I apologise for my outburst. There's no excuse."

He was still bewildered by the 'thick Dwarven skull' and continued glaring at her.

"I am– taxed, I've had a busy morning," she said softly. "Princess Dis and your nephews are quite an– overwhelming company."

"You didn't seem overwhelmed," Thorin pointed out.

"Then I'm better at pretending than I thought," she said and shook her head again. "I expected to spend the morning hiding somewhere in the back row, chatting with lord Balin since he is the only one who knows of our association. And it is so burdensome to keep our closeness secret." She gave out another sigh. "But with your word given to Mistress Algun hanging over us, what can we do? And after all, the fate of so many Dwarves depends on us performing admirably and sustaining the pretence, and–"

And that was when he understood that he was being softly _reproached_! Like to a child, in a kind and condescending way, she was listing all his faults, and not even directly! She was cajoling and speaking equivocally to him - and with a polite apologetic smile playing on her lips!

Thorin narrowed his eyes at her. She stopped speaking and watched his face. Her attempts in duping him had irked him - and yet he felt some sort of entertainment mixed into his irritation. His little bookkeeper was showing some mettle, given, she was trying to be cunning, but the fact that she wasn't retracting after telling him off agreed with him. He gave her an attentive look. He expected her to shrink away, she was a timid being after all - but she didn't. Her standing her ground at the moment - the calm, almost cold expression, and squared shoulders - he knew what he felt about _this_ attitude. This attitude tickled his fancy.

"Am I expected to see my wrongdoings now and repent?" he asked.

"You haven't committed any wrongdoings," she said, giving him a side glance.

"You've just called me thick-skulled, blind, and infuriating," he drew out. "I'm having a suspicion I might have."

Her eyes widened, and he smirked. He should have been offended, and yet suddenly his mood improved - especially when a small snort escaped her despite her sinking her teeth into her bottom lip.

"I apologise," she repeated in feigned contrition. "I regret every word."

"Do you though?" he murmured and leaned forward, as if to study a blade on the table.

He heard her draw a sharp breath when he as much as brushed at her shoulder. He caught the fresh smell of some flower oil emanating from her hair. He remembered the softness of her golden locks when they'd run through his fingers the night before.

"I do apologise for losing my composure," she said quietly.

"I do apologise for being thick-skulled," he whispered back, his eyes still on the weapons on the table.

"I wish we were back in your bedroom," she exhaled, and he looked at her askance.

Her cheeks were now powdered with charming blush, and quite a different flame burnt in the slanted eyes. He very much approved of it. He could see a vein beating frantically on her throat, and she swallowed. _Last night he'd licked her throat, tasting the salt on the skin, from the exertion of the previous bout of their love, and she groaned, and her nails sank into his shoulder. She rasped out his name, like a prayer, and her body arched on his sheets, only shoulders on the bed, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips, rising to meet him._

"Me too," he said.

Now that she mentioned it, the thought of going back under the covers titillated him. He even considered possible ways to escape the Grounds - but of course it just wouldn't do.

"We should go back to the Stand," he said and straightened out.

She nodded and looped her arm through his.

"And I don't want to train with your nephews," she suddenly whispered.

He turned and looked at her.

"They kept offering, and I– I tried to avoid answering, but I am embarrassed of my crippled hands." She wiggled the fingers of her right hand. "And I'm not agile enough for training with Prince Fili for sure. Will I have to train… as the Queen?" she added almost inaudibly.

"You won't have to do anything," he answered. "But you should find a teacher who would meet your needs, start with where you are."

"Will you train me?" she asked quickly and looked at him with large hopeful eyes.

He laughed.

"That's a very tempting proposition, but I meant an actual mentor." He then just couldn't help himself and leaned to her ear. "We'll do other sort of sparring when there's no one around."

Her lips half opened, in a small raspy gasp, and the blush spilled down her long neck now and rouged the tops of her breasts. Her cloak was untied on her throat, and he could see her smooth tender skin in the cut of her dress, in a cloud of the lace on her tunic. He remembered the tunic, from two night before. _Their first night._

"My lord Thorin!"

"Uncle!"

Several voices called after him, and an instant later Fili, Kili, and Mistress Algun caught up with them. He felt his bookkeeper's hand tighten the grip on his forearm.

"We've invited Mistress Algun to join us in the Stand," Fili explained, and Thorin nodded approvingly.

Having the needlemaster nearby would only support the rumours, which is what they needed. He threw a glance to Eorwyn. She seemed preoccupied, and he wondered if she was jealous. He remembered her mentioning his previous association with the needlemaster. It was all in the past obviously, but he couldn't say he disapproved of possessiveness. He was a Dwarf after all.

Algun greeted him and then addressed the bookkeeper, "Master Eorwyn, could I steal you from the King for a few seconds?" She then gave Thorin a tense little smile. "There's a matter of fabrics we need to discuss."

Thorin gave her a nod, and Eorwyn let go of his arm.


	73. The Needlemaster Assumes

The men walked ahead, and the needlemaster was clearly stalling. She held Eorwyn's arm tightly, not allowing her to escape.

"Are you enjoying the Games?" Eorwyn squeaked.

The needlemaster's dark eyes were on the King's back. She seemed to be making sure that there was enough distance between them. Eorwyn swallowed with difficulty.

"Princess Dis visited my shop yesterday," Mistress Algun finally spoke. Eorwyn twitched in her tight grasp. "She asked for my opinion on you," the raven haired woman said.

"Oh," was all Eorwyn managed to answer.

"You see, Master Eorwyn–" Mistress Algun sighed and continued, "I wouldn't have involved myself in this matter, but in a way I feel that I _am_ involved in it." She gave Eorwyn an apologetic glance. "The Princess has had little interaction with Men, as she explained to me, and she was wondering what I knew of you, and of your previous personal history. She told me she'd found out about your previous association with Amri, son of Aín. She was… hopeful."

Algun tucked a long black strand behind her ear in an agitated gesture.

"Please, forgive me, I am overstepping, and I know I am, but I just wish– I wish to be your friend!" the needlemaster suddenly blurted out and stared into Eorwyn's eyes. "I feel we could be wonderful friends! Although I am worried I am ruining all my chances at the moment, by barging into your private matters..."

"I don't understand," Eorwyn muttered, utterly confused.

"Oh Mahal help me, I'm making quite a jumble out of it, am I not?" Algun gave out a nervous laugh. "Since I have interacted with you through the fittings of your dresses, Princess Dis felt I'd know what sort of a person you are. And I am a Blacklock, we do trade with Men, so she wanted to know what I knew of customs and traditions of your kind… regarding romantic associations."

Eorwyn held her breath.

"And since she _involved_ me, I don't feel like it is completely out of the question that I should speak to you," Algun continued in an increasingly anxious tone. "And then you mentioned the familial nickname the King had given you– and I do feel–"

The King looked at them over his shoulder, and the needlemaster noticed and whispered frantically, "I have to haste! Here goes nothing. Master Eorwyn, I think you have to know something." She peered into Eorwyn's face. "Mahal help me, I'm so putting my foot in my mouth. Alright… I think you don't realise that Princess Dis is intending to approach you with your possible marriage to Prince Kili."

At that moment, Eorwyn thought, the needlemaster expected a gasp, or even an exclamation of sorts, and definitely a shocked expression - but definitely didn't expect the loud hysterical laughter that burst out of Eorwyn and made her bend in half in a few seconds and press her arms to her stomach.

Clearly, the morning had been quite too much for Eorwyn.

"Master Eorwyn?" The needlemaster sounded lost.

"Give me a jiffy," Eorwyn rasped out between more and more laughs. "I just need... a moment. Just one– Maiar help me, I can't breathe..."

"Are you–" Mistress Algun started, and then Eorwyn saw that her inappropriate frolics had caught the attention of the King and his nephews.

Eorwyn pulled at Mistress Algun's arm, and they stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Grandstand. The King caught Eorwyn's eyes and she gave him a small nod encouraging him to proceed up.

She turned to the needlemaster. "Mistress Algun… thank you."

"For what?" Mistress Algun's eyebrows jumped up.

"For your… care." Eorwyn smiled at the woman. "For going against your traditions, and for… meddling. Oh please, don't misunderstand me. I am indeed grateful! I know how hard it is for a Dwarf to speak when it feels out of turn. I am not that unaware of your people's customs." Eorwyn chuckled. "And I do wish we were friends as well." She moved closer and impulsively grabbed the needlemaster's hand. "I wish– Oh but there are some circumstances–"

"Aye, there are…" the needlemaster interrupted, "But still!" She squeezed Eorwyn's fingers in return. "Please, know I only wish to stand by you. I just worry, you see."

A light blush coloured the woman's cheeks, and Eorwyn felt deeply touched.

"Thank you. I accept it with all my heart," she answered.

They were now holding each other's hands.

"So, regarding the prince," the needlemaster said, but Eorwyn shook her head.

"Please, worry not, I am aware– Not that it is actually happening, but I am aware that it could be on the princess' mind. And I have educated myself on the Dwarven traditions regarding romance, when Amri–" she trailed away.

"I only wish you no trouble," the needlemaster said. "I said almost nothing to her, but at the beginning I didn't understand why she was asking all those questions, so I am now concerned that I might have divulged too much..."

"Such as?" Eorwyn said with a laugh. "I don't think you have anything to divulge. Except for my pitiful measurements."

The needlemaster emitted a 'pfft' noise. "They aren't pitiful! They are what they are. And apparently they are to some Dwarves' liking." She gave Eorwyn a wink…

…and that reminded the latter about the mentioned above 'circumstances.' After all, there were some aspects to her potential friendship with the needemaster that weren't currently being discussed or known to both sides. Such as Eorwyn having spent the night with the needlemaster's former paramour, who also happened to be the King of a bigoted race the needlemaster belonged to.

Eorwyn carefully pulled her hands out of Mistress Algun's, hoping it still looked amicable.

"Oh Mahal, I'm so relieved," the latter said in a jolly voice. "Perhaps, we should have a meal together later, to make sure we indeed have overcome this awkwardness."

Eorwyn hummed, not expressing any particular emotion. Becoming the needlemaster's friend would be most pleasing, and yet…

"Mistress Algun," the King's voice came from above, and both women lifted their face. "The Games are starting. We're waiting for you… both."

His gaze brushed at Eorwyn's face, but his expression remained distant.

"Well, shall we?" Algun said and laughed again. "Let's sit near the men who aren't actually our darlings–" She stopped herself and shook her head. "I'll explain the jest to you later. Perhaps." She seemed to mostly talk to herself now. "I hope we're close enough soon for me to explain..."

Eorwyn sighed. Not only did she understand the jest, she also knew that the needlemaster was wrong: one of the men on the Stand was in actually Eorwyn's 'darling.'

* * *

Eorwyn walked into the Stand and took her seat. Kili, Fili, and Mistress Algun stayed in the back row, chatting with Dwalin and Gloin. Lord Balin was nowhere to be seen.

"A pastry?" The King's low voice made her turn and look at the platter he held out to her.

The corner of his mouth was turned up - but only slightly, surely unnoticeable to others. Eorwyn was surprised to realise that all her nerves from earlier were now gone. Perhaps, finally voicing out - although, perhaps, not in the most civil manner - her anguish surrounding being in public with him, and being approached by both princes, and his sister's matchmaking attempts had put her at ease.

She picked up a delicious looking triangle of flaky pastry and bit into it. It had a liver and buckwheat filling. She hummed in pleasure. She'd found out the flavours were to her liking the night before during the improvised picnic with the King on his bed. To think of it, that was perhaps why the pockets had been ordered in the first place. She threw him a side glance, popped the rest of the pastry in her mouth, and picked up the second one. He chuckled.

"You've got quite an appetite, Master Eorwyn," he rumbled.

Her first thought was that he needed to restrain himself. That had sounded rather flirtatious and even sensual. But then she remembered that even long ago, before they became anything rather than just friends, their conversations had been full of banter and teasing. If the same manner remained between them, no one would think twice of it. It had mostly been coming from him - but at this moment, she suddenly realised she was feeling much, much less reverent towards him. He was still her King and she had all respect towards him - but she also knew that he was ticklish, that he made funny snorting noises when waking up, and that he was an incorrigible sweet tooth. It made her adore him endlessly - but he was so much less intimidating now!

"I hardly slept last night," she said most casually, "I need to replenish my strength."

The King froze with his mug almost to his lips. He looked at her askance, and Eorwyn felt most mischievous.

"To think of it, I don't think I'll get much sleep tonight either," she sing-songed and stretched to the platter. It was placed on a bench in front of him. Her hand brushed at his knee - not at all accidentally - and he jerked. Eorwyn giggled, sat back in her seat, and started chewing.

"Minx," he muttered under his breath, and she grinned, her eyes on the arena.


	74. Her Special Kind of Magic

**I swear to Mahal I was going to inject some plot in this story, but then the chapter ran away from me :D I promise we will have something actually happening in the next one.**

**K. xx**

Eorwyn opened her eyes and looked at the sleeping King. He lay on his stomach, one long arm hanging off the edge of the bed. His large heavy body was spread on the sheets, covers wrapped around his lower half. His left arm was outstretched and lay across Eorwyn's stomach. She had nothing but a quarter of his bed to herself.

Eorwyn giggled. The King slept as a person exhausted physically - which perhaps was very much true.

The weight of his arm made her bladder displeased, and she started slowly sliding from under it. The King grumbled in his sleep, but remained in his deep slumber. Eorwyn minced to his bath chamber, the stone floor was cold.

While she washed her hands in a basin she looked up and saw her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes shone. The hair stood around her head like a giant dandelion, with one green ribbon sticking out of a half undone braid. She snickered again. It would take a lot of effort to tame this farrago.

She dashed back to the bedroom and slid under the covers, pulling her knees to her chest. The heat of the King's body washed over her, and she waited for it to warm her.

The night before Steward Nyr had been already waiting for her in the same hall and let her in. Dinner had already been prepared and served on a low table in the King's parlour - except they hadn't gotten to eating it for three hours.

Eorwyn threw another glance at the King's back. She wondered whether he seemed so beautiful to her because she was in love with him - or indeed he had an alluring back. He was an attractive man, by the standards of any race, but surely he was as mouth-watering as he seemed to her now!

She saw the long muscles under his smooth skin, the white scars from his old battle wounds, thick coarse hair on the forearms. She jerked her hand back. She hadn't realised she'd been stretching to touch him - and then she wondered why wouldn't she? She thought back at the Dwarven books on physical love that she'd read and that the King had laughed about her reading. It said a lover, male or female, had the right to initiate an act, and wasn't to be offended if they were refused. Expressing the desire showed affection, and it was up to the other part to either accept or decline the proposition.

Eorwyn gingerly shifted closer to him and slowly placed her palm on his shoulder. His skin was scorching. He made a displeased noise, and Eorwyn took a deep breath, forcing her hand to stay put. She then brushed at his shoulder tenderly and led her palm lower, along the upper arm, lowering her body and pressing her cheek to his shoulder blade. He was warm, and smelled of the spicy oils he added to his baths, of pipeweed smoke, and of something uniquely his, his skin, fresh, and grassy, and nutty.

"Is it morning already?" he muttered and started shifting.

"No, I think it's still very early," Eorwyn whispered. "I was awake, and..."

She pulled her hand back, up his arm, scraping his skin lightly with her nails.

"Oh," he murmured, and one bright blue eye opened.

She could see the corner of his soft lips curl up under the dark whiskers.

"Uh-huh," she sing-songed and pressed her lips to his ear. It was large, hot, and very Dwarven, which at the moment suddenly brought a realisation on Eorwyn's mind. She found Dwarven ears so very kissable!

"I'm still asleep," he murmured and closed the eye. "I need help waking up." His suggestive voice rumbled deep in his throat.

Eorwyn snorted into his shoulder and then pressed into him flush, which caused shivers to run her whole body. She was bare, and so was he.

She placed a few small kisses on his shoulder, and then, biting into her bottom lip to gather her courage, bashfulness and excitement mixed in her nerves, she put her hand on his hip - and then slipped her palm around the bone and towards the thick hair at the meeting of his thighs. His body jolted, and he groaned quietly. The tips of her fingers bumped at the root of his member, and she released a shuddered breath.

"_Zardûna,_" the King rasped out.

Eorwyn let her fingers wrap around his hot length, and his body jerked, and his hips pushed into her hand. The feeling of power and audaciousness flooded Eorwyn, and she rolled further over his body, gaining more access, and her lips and then teeth caressing his ear, while her hand moved. He'd caressed her centre the night before, with his fingers and his lips, and she was more than willing to return the favour. She needed to climb over him completely, she thought. She licked her lips in anticipation of tasting him. She remembered the suggestions from the book, on the technique and how such actions could be offered but couldn't be demanded - but suddenly the King grabbed her hand and took it off his flesh.

"Lie down," he muttered and started turning. "I want... you."

"Are you giving more orders?" she asked with a laugh. She was apparently feeling quite daring. "My lord," she added in a salacious tone, and he stared at her.

Another throaty bark of laughter escaped her, and she pushed him on his back, pressing her hand into his shoulder, while climbing on top of him. Her arms straight, her fingers curling into his shoulders, she aligned them, feeling his scorching member twitching under her. She let him slide inside in a swift movement, her body ready and sleek for him, and moaned in pleasure. They'd lain together like this before, but their coupling had a different tone now. She had taken control - and how she enjoyed it!

She moved, in rolling, almost demanding movements, suddenly only preoccupied with her own pleasure, and he seemed to be aiding her, his hands grasping her hips, kneading her buttocks, and helping her rise and fall on him.

And then her rupture took her. She'd learnt that her body was capable of it the night before, but this fire was like no other she'd felt before. It spread through her body, making her arch, dropping her head back, with a loud scream and then a moan.

And then the King grabbed her tightly around the waist, and his thrust met her fall, and she felt his seed spill inside her. Another wave of intoxicating delight ran her body, and she fell forward, her forehead on the sheet near his head.

She exhaled loudly, and he jerked and guffawed. She'd just puffed air into the very Dwarven ear she'd been ogling before.

"What's 'zardûna?'" she asked, muffled by the sheet, and unable to lift her head.

The King's left hand lay on her back, and he started tenderly stroking.

"A witch in Khuzdul," he answered lazily. "Why?"

He yawned then, and Eorwyn straightened up with a moan. His member was still inside her, and she knew by experience that if she moved roughly now he'd hiss and jerk. She carefully rose, not to cause him discomfort, and lay near him. He immediately wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in tightly.

"I believe you've called me so, before we–" She vaguely gestured in the air.

"Oh?" He chuckled. "It's not an insult in Khuzdul. It's more of a sorceress than a hag."

Eorwyn rose on one elbow and pushed her fist under her cheek to see his face better. He looked content. Even the habitual crinkle between his brows was gone. He yawned with gusto again.

"So, you called me a witch," she pointed out again, and his body shook in quiet deep laughter.

"I suppose I have." He tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. "Perhaps I meant you were _enchanting_."

"Buh, what nonsense!" she scoffed, and he laughed again.

"I can't be held responsible for what I say when I'm so… preoccupied." He closed his eyes and pulled her even closer, arranging her tucked into his side. "And you are enchanting."

"Sweet talk," she muttered and closed her eyes too.

"What are you planning to do today?" he asked sleepily and burrowed his nose into her hair. "It's the Royal Family Dinner, remember."

Eorwyn sighed. "I do. And as for the day, I'm supposed to spend it with Master Svuir. He sent me a letter a week ago. He said he didn't participate in the Games or Game watching, so I was to come to his study for our usual classes."

"Old devil," the King muttered. "Just come for a meal to my study..." He yawned. "Around the first bell."

Eorwyn hummed and settled in his embrace. She was already drifting away when she heard the King mumble, 'Zardûna indeed' and chuckle. Eorwyn smiled and fell asleep.


	75. The Offer

**Do you like my new profile pic, my lovelies? I drew it myself. If you're interested, I'm on Instagram. The nick is kkolmakov. Just as always :D I mostly post my cats and drawings of Thorin and Wren in all of their shapes and forms. You can also follow my Facebook Katya Kolmakov - Author for news and updates on my writing.**

**And now to Middle Earth!**

**Love,**

**K. xx**

* * *

"You seem quite enthused to study today, Master Eorwyn," Master Svuir drew out from his tall armchair.

Eorwyn lifted her eyes from the scroll she was industriously filling with calculations.

"Do you imply I'm generally distracted?" she jested before she could bite her tongue.

The old Dwarf gave her a long studying look, and she shrunk in her chair.

"You are distracted just like every student I've ever had. It's been almost two hundred years, and all I've seen in them was interests most trifle: dancing, and Games, and of course matrimony." The list had been pronounced in such a venomous tone as if Master Svuir was naming contagious diseases. "You, thankfully, have shown a minuscule degree of diligence, but I've always assumed it was due to the fact that you aren't accepted in Erebor and in those fisherman villages." He gave a lazy wave of his pale, bony hand towards the wall looking out to the Lake. "So all you had was my classes. And then you disappeared, and then you grew in rank, and now you're an emissary. I expected you to be solely preoccupied with your favourable position in the town of your kind."

Eorwyn put down her quill and pretended to be busy with sanding her writing.

"And yet here you are. Swallowing my lessons like a hungry apprentice hoping to find a position in the Mountain. Have your prospects in Dale come to ruin?"

Eorwyn gawked at him.

"Pardon?"

"Since a favourable marriage has never been in the books for you, I expected you'd be at least successful in your vocation in Dale. Was I wrong to assume that? Has your position in Dale changed?"

It took Eorwyn a few seconds to gather her thoughts.

"Are you— Are you worried for me?" She couldn't believe it!

"I just wish to know what your intentions are." The Dwarf's face remained disdainful.

"My intentions?" Eorwyn repeated since there was nothing better to say.

The Dwarf sighed in apparent exasperation.

"If you have no position in the towns of Men, I have an offer for you." He looked up and aside, as if not at all interested in what she had to answer. "The Kingdom of the Blue Mountains is in need of the Auditor of the Court of Exchequer."

A pause hung in the air, and Eorwyn realised she held her breath.

After a few seconds, when saying nothing became simply rude, Eorwyn exhaled, "Me?"

"Obviously. _I_ am already occupying a similar position," the Dwarf grumbled and sighed again. "I see you need time to catch up."

"I— I— I most definitely do." Eorwyn pressed her hand to her forehead. "The Auditor of the Court of— Maiar help me."

"You're making me doubt my choice, Master Eorwyn. Clearly, you don't have the mental capacity to comprehend even the offer. How will you fulfill the responsibilities?"

The Dwarf roughly opened the volume in front of him, and the front board landed on his desk with a thud. Eorwyn jumped up.

"I'm just an apprentice..." she whispered.

"Aye, you are," he said and lowered his eyes to the book.

"I haven't yet— I haven't completed my lessons with you!"

"You never will. I have too much to teach," he grumbled, seemingly preoccupied with reading.

"Then why?!" Eorwyn flailed her hands in the air.

He didn't dignify her squeak with an answer.

"I'm of Men! They will never accept me in the Blue Mountains!"

The Dwarf continued to read. Suddenly, Eorwyn saw red.

"Master Svuir, you're being unnecessarily cruel!" she exclaimed.

He looked up in surprise. She'd never stood up for herself thusly, after all - to say nothing of raising her voice.

"You're tormenting me, making an offer that you know I consider the greatest honour! You know that any person of numbers could only dream of that position! And you know I could never—"

"I have sent a letter to Lady Sigga, the Purveyor of the Line of Durin in Ered Lindon. As the King's Steward, she appoints all high officials in the dwelling. She has accepted your candidacy."

"Oh Maiar," Eorwyn gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

"You can say no, stay here, or go back to your people. The choice is yours. Either way, you still have to finish at least two moons of my lessons." The Dwarf pointed at the volume opened in front of Eorwyn. "Go back to your calculations."

Eorwyn closed her mouth and huffed some air noisily.

"I— I will not!"

The Dwarf's bushy eyebrows jumped up.

"I can't simply go back to the calculations! I need to— I need to think!"

Eorwyn jumped to her feet and started shoving her possessions into her bag.

"You'll have to excuse me, Master Svuir. I need to— to think— Maiar help me, I don't know what I think!"

She glanced in his face, and it seemed to her she could see a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth.

"I don't know if I should kiss you, because you've given me the biggest gift I could wish for - or I should yell and stomp because— it's just not how it's done! And—" Her breathing caught, and she once again flailed, this time swinging her bag in the air.

"Please, refrain from both," the Dwarf said calmly. "Go to your rooms and consider the offer. I'm expecting you tomorrow at the eighth bell."

"Tomorrow I'm at the Games with the King," she said, and her bag fell out of her hand on the floor. Her quills and papers scattered. "Oh, the King..."

"Then after the midday meal. You have five scrolls to work on, and you are clearly incapable of finishing your work today."

"I am incapable." Eorwyn shook her head frantically, knelt, and started picking up her belongings.

And then she got up, rushed ahead, and grabbed the Dwarf's hand. She dared not to do anything else. She squeezed his fingers.

"You do know what an honour it is! You do, don't you?! How much I appreciate it, and that you trusted me with it, and that—" A sob bubbled in her throat, but she took it under control. "Please, believe me, I simply can't express how honoured I am!"

"You can start by releasing my—" he started, and then paused, and a small smile brushed at his lips. His cool palm covered her hand on his. "I think you will manage just fine."

Eorwyn had no words, and she squeezed his hand again and then stepped back.

* * *

Only when her hand lay on the gate to the Apprentice Halls, she realised that her legs had carried her to the chambers she was occupying no more. The day before all her belongings had been moved to apartments in the Northern Passage of the Lower Halls.

She stood, and all she could feel was her chest rise and drop in short breaths. Her thoughts swirled, and it felt as if her mind struggled against her current situation. The offer of Master Svuir was a matter so large and so overwhelming that she simply couldn't even start considering it. Or perhaps, she didn't want to.

"Eorwyn!" a familiar voice rang from the passage behind her.

"Birna, good day," Eorwyn muttered and forced a smile.

Birna was a junior apprentice in the meadmaker guild. She was Nis' distant relation.

"I haven't seen you in ages. How have you been?" the maiden asked in a joyful voice.

They chatted for a bit, and as much as Eorwyn was usually uncomfortable when having small talk, the respite was most welcome. They discussed a few mutual acquaintances, and Birna said her goodbyes and left for her classes. Eorwyn leaned her back against the wall.

Her usual manner of dealing with preoccupations and an emotional turmoil would be to hide under a blanket, curl in a ball, and let her mind mull over - and over, and over - whatever bothered her. And then she imagined sitting down alone in her new chamber, so much bigger and more luxurious than any dwelling she'd ever occupied, and to finally let the gravity of what had happened today to sink in - and she shuddered and straightened up.

She could go to the King and tell him - but she knew what he'd say. He would probably congratulate her, with the offer, with the honour, and with 'charming the old devil' and with convincing him that she deserved the position. More so, he probably would say he 'never doubted her' - and then say that it was a pity that she couldn't accept.

She couldn't, could she? She indeed had no future in the town of Men, but it was no accident and it was by her own volition. She had quite different responsibilities in front of her.

And then she suddenly imagined it: sitting in her own study, in the Blue Mountains, in a chair like Master Svuir's, numbers and books and scrolls - and not a worry in the world. No one to convince she deserved her position, no one to tell her the King could have chosen so much better, that her only value was that the King had had the misfortune to lose his sense and bring her onto the throne of Erebor.

She'd work day and night with weights and measures. There would be tradesmen and merchants, contracts and treaties - everything she ever wanted and loved in her life. Everything she _had_ ever wanted and loved - until she met the King Under the Mountain.

Everything she would have to give up - although, hopefully not completely - when she became his wife.


	76. Choices We Make

Algun heard the bell ring in the front of her shop, and she walked out of her storage room. Master Eorwyn stood by the door, her hands pushed deep into the pockets of her light coat. She wasn't wearing the chicken cloak. The coat was unfamiliar and didn't fit the girl well. It was too baggy and of nasty brown colour - clearly made by a Man, Algun decided with a small disgusted grimace.

"Oh Master Eorwyn, do come through!" she exclaimed and rushed to the girl.

"Good day. I've gotten your note, Mistress Algun," the bookkeeper said shyly. "It was quite fortunate, since I have moved and I wasn't even supposed to be in the Apprentice Halls. I sort of just happened to pass by when the courtier found me."

"Well, isn't it an excellent chance? Do come through."

The girl made a few slow steps in. Algun watched her discreetly. She needed to see if she'd set the trap right - and she saw she had! The dress she had displayed right in the middle of the shop room was perfect for the redhead: the green of the velvet was so dark that it almost looked black, like the skin of a moor grass snake; the sleeves were narrow, and the cleavage would emphasize the girl's long neck and dignified posture most beautifully. The lace in the cut of the dress had golden thread woven into it, just enough to bring out the soft tone of her skin. Algun had held back on the brocade, allowing just a triangle on the bodice and two narrow ribbons going down the skirt.

"What do you think?" Algun asked cheekily.

"Pardon?" The girl's cheeks flushed red, and she averted her slanted eyes.

"Isn't it perfect?" Algun stepped to the dummy and lifted one of the sleeves. "It's rather light, definitely an indoors dress. And not too adorned, I know how modest you are. It's definitely not to be your day dress. I see you are still wearing the dark blue set I've made for you, and you're taking a good care of it." She nodded approvingly. "And you have the burgundy everyday one. And the formal green one, with the silk undersleeves, I assume. Now, you need one more. It's the Royal Family Dinner tonight, and a little bird told me you're invited."

"Oh I couldn't," the girl whispered, but her hand flew up and the tips of her fingers brushed to the shoulder.

"Nonsense," Algun laughed. It was even easier than she'd expected! "You need to try it on so I can make adjustments. We don't have much time left."

The girl still looked in doubt.

"I'll make you the usual offer. You can pay me in increments just as before, and after all you are almost done with the payments for your first dress," Algun dismissed. "C'mon, hop into the fitting room, I'll bring the dress. I'm alone in the shop today, I let all my helpers go to the Games."

"Oh then I definitely—" the girl started to protest.

"No, no, that's enough argument. Shoo! To the fitting room. I'll bring the dress in a jiffy!"

The girl's nose twitched nervously, but after a second of hesitation she obeyed.

* * *

"Well, I can say I for once am very pleased," Algun announced.

The red-haired girl was studying her reflection, with a small frown.

"Master Eorwyn?" Algun asked.

"Oh, yes, yes, the dress is excellent." The girl's tone was flat.

"That's not quite the reaction I expected." Algun laughed. She knew it couldn't possibly be the dress. Something else was bothering the bookkeeper.

"It's just— Isn't it a bit— revealing?" the girl asked, pinched the edge of the dress' low cut, and tried to pull it up.

Algun snickered.

"It is. But I assumed you'd want to look alluring during the Dinner with all the princes and lords present." She gave the girl a wink in the mirror. Judging by the deepening frown on the bookkeeper's face, the joke wasn't appreciated. "I'm jesting. You could choose an undertunic with a higher collar, or a kerchief can be added to it. I have a few lovely silk ones, and a couple of lace ones. Except..." she drew out.

"Except what?" The girl continued tugging at the neckline.

"Well, I'd say you look most charming like this and have no need to hide." Algun shrugged. "It's an attractive look for you, and it's in no way vulgar. But it's all about your comfort. If you are in physical or emotional unease, we need to change it."

"But do I— Do I look attractive?" the girl asked in a pleading tone. "Isn't this a bit like trying to put an expensive saddle on a goat?"

Algun snorted a laugh.

"A saddle on a goat?"

"Aye. Both pretentious and pointless." The girl half turned and looked at herself in profile. "Out of place..."

"You're insulting my art, Master Eorwyn." Algun shook her head, still laughing. "Again, we can add a tunic or a kerchief, if you want."

"I do want to look attractive," the bookkeeper turned and looked at her other side. "I just don't want to look like I'm full of myself."

"Well, I don't see why you shouldn't feel good about yourself and show it. You have a vocation and as I've heard a natural talent, which you've industriously developed. You can afford a good dress, which means you should buy the dress." She leaned in and straightened the hem. "And as odd as it might sound coming from a needlemaster, I don't think looks are that important. I always think the dress should make you feel good about yourself, whether by adorning you or by showing your status. I don't think it can create an illusion of stature or prosperity, but it definitely should reflect them. Here, much better."

The girl gave out a small laugh. "It's as if we have two different conversations. I speak of my bony shoulders and lacking bosom, you compliment my mind. Just like—" Master Eorwyn bit her tongue.

"Just like what?" Algun asked. She stepped back and looked the girl over.

"Just like a Dwarf I know." Eorwyn blushed lightly. "He— It doesn't matter."

"So there is a 'he?' I've heard rumours. Everyone is Erebor is so preoccupied with matrimony and romance these days, these are the only topics of the fitting room conversation. And so many wedding dresses are being made." Algun smiled mischievously. "Am I going to be making one for you soon too?"

"No! Or perhaps— Not that I wouldn't want you to!" the girl started muttering. "And— Ugh! If only it were that easy!" the redhead exclaimed and flailed her hands in the air.

"Oh? Is something the matter?" Algun felt sincere concern. "You don't have to disclose anything of course, unless you want to."

"I just— Our situation is complicated." The bookkeeper shook her head mournfully.

Algun gave her a sympathetic look. "Is it because you aren't a Dwarf?"

"Aye, and there are other circumstances." The girl stepped off the dais. "And on top of other things I've just received an offer of a position I couldn't even dream of before! It's— Oh... it's everything I've ever wanted." The girl shied away from her own words. "Pardon me, you don't want to listen to this."

"I don't mind if you want to share." Algun gently touched the girl's shoulder. "I think I can understand you better than many. After all—" She sighed when the memories flooded her. "I had to make quite the same choice in the past."

"Oh? Oh!" Master Eorwyn pressed her hand over her mouth.

Algun gave out a joyless chuckle. "I'm sure you know of my former betrothal to the King. He was kind enough to initiate the negation of our courtship, so in the eyes of my kin I do not look like the heartless calculative villain that I was. But I had a choice between the man I— between marrying him and pursuing my vocation, and I chose my craft."

"Do you regret it?" the girl gasped.

Algun wanted to immediately deny it, but the bookkeeper seemed so candid and open about her own woes that Algun decided she owed the girl honesty.

"I sometimes do," she said and then chuckled a bit, once again without any real merriment. "I just think back at the time we had together— We were good for each other."

She walked to a bench and sat down. The bookkeeper gingerly joined her.

"I am sorry," the redhead said and took Algun's hands in hers. "It must be hard." Algun could see that the girl was genuinely commiserating her.

"No, I shouldn't complain," Algun said. "I've made that choice, and I know it is right. Every time I enter this shop, I confirm to myself I've decided right." She squeezed the bookkeeper's fingers. "And so should you. Choose what your heart tells you to do. You know what this conversation made me think of? How you asked about the dress and whether you looked attractive in it, and about your bony shoulders and your lacking bosom." Algun gave the girl a pointed affectionate glance. "It's because you are of Men. For Dwarves your mind and your talents matter more. You aren't just a woman, just desired or undesired as a wife and a lover. So that's why I make you dresses that show your worth as a bookkeeper. And that's why your Dwarf speaks of the same. And that's how you should think now, as a Dwarf. You're a person of an independent mind. If you can't be his wife and a bookkeeper at the same time, you have to choose one."

"But you said— you said you long for the past. For the times when you two were together," the girl whispered, and her eyes filled with tears. "You said you were good for each other."

"We were." Algun shook her head stubbornly. "And now we are happy, each of us in his and her own way. I am happy to be Mistress Algun, the Needlemaster of Erebor. And he is happily in love." Algun saw the girl's eyes widen in shock. "I've guessed it some time ago," Algun said. "He has found love, and the one incomparable to what had been between us. It's like he's a different man now, and I rejoice for him. I would have made an excellent Queen for Erebor, but I could never be the lover and the wife he was fortunate to have found in that woman."

Suddenly the bookkeeper jumped to her feet.

"I need to go!" she blurted out. "I need— There is someone I need to talk to!"


	77. News Travels Fast

Fili wasn't looking forward to the Royal Family Dinner. He was fond of revels, but the Dinner was an occasion too small and too crowded at the same time. He remembered the ones they'd had in the Blue Mountains. It had never been a celebration on its own, it had always ended up being about politics. There was no dancing or singing, which Fili enjoyed during feasts. On the other hand, having his Uncle and his Mother in one room for more than a length of a meal was always a game of chance. Recently, they'd been given a repose, since Thorin seemed to prefer taking his meals in his study during the day, and in his private rooms in the evening. But tonight they'd all be stuck in the same hall for hours.

Thorin had been often away when they'd resided in Ered Lindon, but when he'd been in the Halls, he'd always used the Dinner for making clever political connections. This time Master Eorwyn was invited as the guest of honour. Fili liked the girl, she was a gentle, polite creature. There was a complication, though: their Mother seemed to have gotten in her head that Master Eorwyn would be a great match for Kili. Fili found the notion laughable! His brother's interests lay solely in shooting at the range, drinking with the small group of friends they'd acquired in Erebor, and besides, Kili was too young to even consider marriage!

As it was traditional, the four of them gathered in the Thror's dining chamber first. Fili could see that Thorin was in a dark mood, something must have happened during the day. The Dwarf stood by the fireplace, his back to the room, and just threw a short greeting when Fili came in with Kili in tow. Kili was still chatting away, as always unperturbed by Thorin's temper. Their Mother seemed especially high-strung, her eyes fixed on Thorin's back.

They were supposed to share drinks, but Thorin didn't even move from his spot. He just stood and drank one glass after another. Fili tried to engage his Mother in a conversation, but it also proved futile. At the end he just had to stand and listen to Kili's account of the morning match between two famous wrestlers that Fili had missed.

Finally, Balin, Dwalin, and Gloin came in. Gloin's wife was unwell, and Oin wasn't attending. Everyone took their seats and the conversation livened up, but Thorin's ire was too prominent to be ignored. At some point Balin leaned to Fili.

"What seems to be the matter, laddie?" he asked softly, and his eyes shot to Thorin.

Fili shrugged.

"And your Mother seems to be all pins and needles as well," the old Dwarf added.

"Pray to Mahal she doesn't try to involve Thorin into a conversation again," Fili whispered. "A few minutes before you came in, he almost bit her head off."

"Growlin' are we?" Dwalin joined their hushed conversation. He chuckled. "At the Games as well, he seemed to be as stormy as the clouds over the Mountain."

"And you'd think he'd be in high spirits," Balin muttered.

"Aye, hadn't he had a delightful night?" Dwalin gave his brother a nudge with his elbow and barked a coarse laugh. "Must be the lack of kip. He ain't a young man anymore."

Fili cringed at the impropriety of the jest. He had heard the rumours of course. Just this morning Billa had mentioned that supposedly Thorin's association with Mistress Algun had been rekindled - and then more discussion had happened during the Games, when Fili had left the Stand, and he and Kili had gone to spend some time with their mates. Some had claimed it had surely been Lady Turith, and whoever had seen her had simply mistaken her for Mistress Algun. Some had pointed out that the needlemaster wasn't a blonde so such a mistake wouldn't have been possible. Two of their companions had gotten into an argument because each had chosen one of the two women to proclaim more alluring, and the discussion had gotten heated. Meanwhile, Bersi, Oin's nephew, had made an even more inappropriate proposition, since as he'd put it with a wink, 'two heads are better than one' - and that had been when Fili had firmly put an end to this palaver.

Out of respect he wasn't going to remind the two older Dwarves that Thorin was the King; and he also was _Thorin_, who, as they all knew, would never act dishonourably - and then the door opened, and Master Eorwyn came in.

She looked… striking. When he'd seen her before, Fili seemed to recall, she was dressed in Dwarven fashion. She was slender, but the previous attires added curves where there were none. Tonight, her dress was almost black, narrow and tightly fitted on the sleeves and the bodice. Lithe and graceful, she looked like a black stoat, the precious sleek fur of which they traded in the East. Her white skin as if glowed in the low cut of the dress. A three-string collar of pearls hugged her throat. A single thin string, with a tear shaped black one on its end, went down between her breasts. The golden locks were arranged around her head, most of the flaming mane was loose on her back, with just a few braids keeping it off her face.

"Master Eorwyn, what a joy to see you! You look exquisite tonight!" Fili's Mother seemed to be the first to have found her voice.

Fili felt that the rest of the Dwarves in the room, him included, still needed a jiffy to gather their bearings. She still couldn't be called attractive in the eyes of a Dwarf, of course - but none of the Dwarves would be able to take said eyes off her.

And then they all remembered their manners and got up, noisily pushing chairs back on the stone floor.

"Good evening," the girl answered and gave a small bow seemingly to everyone at the same time. "And thank you for your compliment, lady Dis. I'll pass your praise to Mistress Algun. After all, I owe the effect to her skill."

Everyone shifted and started greeting her. After the first round of polite small talk, everyone took their seats again. A chair had been left for the girl between Balin, who sat to the King's left, and Dwalin. This way she ended up across from Fili who sat next to his Mother. Kili was to his right. Master Eorwyn met Fili's eyes and gave him a warm smile. She then turned to Balin. The old man had been doting on her since the day they'd encountered her in the Goblin caves.

Fili ate, half-listened to Kili's conversation with their Mother - and watched the girl. She'd grown a lot since she'd come to Erebor. He'd heard from his Mother that she was doing exceptionally well in her studies and in her vocation, that even Master Svuir was impressed by her talents, and that she had a bright future ahead of her. Even with slightly more confidence and allure that she showed now, Fili thought, she still was no match for Kili.

"And what do you think, Master Eorwyn?" lady Dis said loudly, making several faces to turn to her.

"Pardon?" the girl asked.

"What do you think of today's Games?" Fili's Mother then addressed Kili. "You have taken Master Eorwyn to the range, haven't you? I've heard you're an exceptional archer, Master Eorwyn." She gave the girl a coy smile.

"I had a lovely time," the bookkeeper answered. "Watching the Games that is. I hardly deserve the title of an archer altogether." She gave out a small shy laugh. "Especially not these days. My hands have been injured. But I truly enjoyed watching others practise and compete."

"We're intending to practise together though," Kili said merrily. "Remember, my lady, you've promised. No escape for you now." He shook his finger at the bookkeeper playfully.

She politely smiled and nodded.

"That reminds me," she said and turned to Dwalin. "I was told if I require a mentor in any sort of sparring, I should ask you for help in finding one."

Dwalin swallowed a giant chunk of roasted meat he was chewing and nodded. "Aye, that would be me. What sort of training d'ye have in mind?"

"I have no skill in defending myself," she answered. "And I know how beneficial regular training is for one's health. I thought perhaps I could start with the simplest sword training."

Fili opened his mouth to offer his counsel, when Thorin's low voice interrupted him.

"As young as you are, Master Eorwyn, it's perhaps too late to start. You're not a child anymore."

Fili saw the bookkeeper's cheeks flush red. She slowly turned to Thorin. Her eyes were widened, suddenly of bright green colour. A deep frown lay between Thorin's brows, and his lips were pressed tightly. Fili knew his Uncle's expressions well. He could only guess now what had irked Thorin so much. The Dwarf was twisting an empty glass in his hand. Fili then noticed the bookkeeper's chest rise in sharp short breaths. The corners of her red mouth were lowered anxiously.

"My brother is right," lady Dis cut in in a feigned jolly voice. "You're better off strengthening a skill you already possess now. Since you have previously trained with bow and arrow, you should renew your practice."

Fili could only admire his Mother's gift of turning any conversation into the direction she wanted! Kili, of course, immediately opened his mouth to continue pressuring the poor girl…

...when Thorin once again spoke up in the same raspy enraged voice, "Besides, what is the point of finding yourself a mentor in Erebor? Aren't you the new Auditor of the Court of Exchequer in the court of Lady Sigga, the Purveyor of the Line of Durin in Ered Lindon?"


	78. Don't Forget to Knock

Fili watched the girl slowly put her knife on the table. Her already pale face was now ashen. She narrowed her eyes at Thorin, and her red lips pursed. Fili looked at his Mother, since, if anything, the news mostly affected her - or to be more precise, her matchmaking plans.

"Is it true?" Kili asked in a jolly voice. "That's quite a feat, Master Eorwyn. How on earth did you arrange that? Not that I doubt your abilities, but to swindle Old Svuir—"

"I have not _swindle_ Master Svuir into this proposition." The bookeeper's voice was sharp and cold. "I hadn't been aware of the prospect until today. He had set the wheels in motion on his own volition."

Her eyes were on Thorin's face, which was now as much as scowling. Everyone else in the room watched the two of them silently. Fili wondered why Thorin would disapprove of the girl so much, after all Fili had been under the impression that their relationship was amicable. It was known that she worked on his personal books, which meant Thorin trusted her knowledge and her judgement. She was no Dwarf of course, but by now everyone had accepted her in Erebor. Where would this hostility come from? Perhaps, she'd done something to displease him. Fili just couldn't think of anything.

"Well, have you accepted it then?" Fili's Mother broke the silence in a brittle voice.

The bookkeeper slowly turned, and Fili saw an haughty expression on the redhead's angular features.

"What does it matter, amad?" Kili cut in with a chuckle. "I'm sure it'll be announced officially when the decision is made. Otherwise, it is Master Eorwyn's personal business."

Fili knew it about his brother: Kili sensed and deeply detested any sort of agitation among people he shared a meal with or was forced to travel with. He simply wanted everyone to get along around him.

Kili raised his glass and saluted the girl. "Many blessings, Master Eorwyn! I congratulate you on the proposition."

The rest of the Dwarves in the room lifted their glasses.

"Well deserved, Master Eorwyn," Gloin said, and the girl picked up her glass as well.

"Indeed," Thorin said darkly from his seat.

Fili noticed that the girl's hand trembled slightly. Everyone drank, and the conversation slowly resumed; the only two who remained clammed up now were Thorin and Fili's Mother. She was sulking, moving food on her plate. Thorin drank.

After dinner it was customary to have some small music or sing, but no one seemed to step forward. They'd withdrawn to a small parlour adjoining to the dining hall. The Dwarves smoked, Master Eorwyn had a quiet conversation with Gloin in the corner. The discussion, as much as Fili could summon from his corner, pertained to the trade with Dale.

"What do you think has come over Thorin?" Fili whispered into Kili's ear. "I thought he was fond of her."

Kili shrugged, clearly indifferent to the matter. Fili exhaled in frustration.

"You do know it has something to do with you, don't you?" he hissed.

Kili pointed at himself with his pipe and made a dramatic questioning grimace.

"Aye, you!" Fili leaned even closer. "Tell me you have caught Mother's—"

He didn't get to finish because Balin approached them.

"Perhaps you two should bring out your instruments," he said quietly. "We don't want tempers to rise even more."

"Aye, but what is this about—" Fili once again was interrupted, this time because Dwalin joined their little group by the fireplace.

"We ain't seeing any cheer this night," he grumbled and took a big gulp from the mug in his hand. "How'bout you apply some of your diplomatic talent and get us all out of this room, brother?"

Balin gave him an exasperated look.

"I will leave you now, I think," Mother's strained voice carried over the room, and Fili saw her rise from her chair. "I've had a long day, and I'm no youngling anymore." The small laugh she gave out sounded empty. "I thank you for today's company, Master Eorwyn. We shall continue the discussion next time."

The bookkeeper followed her example, rose, and gave her a small bow.

"Thank Mahal," Kili muttered under his breath.

Once lady Dis left, one by one they all mumbled some pleasantries and niceties and made their escape, first, Gloin, then the bookkeeper, then the others. FIli considered lingering, he felt he needed to question Thorin on his attitude towards the bookkeeper. Recently Thorin had been including Fili in the matters of trade in Erebor more and more. It was understandable, their kingdom in the Blue Mountains had been much smaller, and now Thorin was much more preoccupied. Thorin would have to learn to share his responsibilities, since he had no Queen. Fili thought that Thorin was holding back, to be honest. FIli could manage much more than he was allowed to take upon himself.

"Let's go," Kili whispered and pulled at Fili's sleeve.

"I need to speak to Uncle." Fili patted Kili's hand on his arm.

"No you don't, don't be dim. He's clearly nettled. You'll just have your nail hammered down, as they say."

Fili threw a glance at Thorin. He was standing his back to the room again, pipeweed smoke swirling above his head. Fili decided his brother was right - and with a few words he followed Kili into the hallway.

* * *

He returned to his rooms and was just taking off his overtunic when a knock came to his door. He opened it without asking, it was so late it could only be Kili or their Mother. It was the latter. Fili internally groaned: his Mother's eyes were puffy and red. She walked into the parlour and heavily sat in an armchair.

"Mother," he grumbled and took the other armchair. The conversation was promising to be taxing.

"Is it true about Master Eorwyn? Is she leaving Erebor?" Lady Dis' voice broke and she pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve. "She is, isn't she? What a conundrum! It was such an excellent plan! What are we going to do now?" She loudly cleaned her nose. Fili knew no answer was required, so he just took a long sip of his mead.

"And then again, maybe it will still sort itself out. Maybe she won't go," Mother continued her musings. "After all, it's well known how fond she is of Erebor. She's such a charming person! We all love her company, we simply can't let her leave! And after all they are simply made for each other!" A small sob escaped her, and she blew her nose again. FIli muttered an 'excuse me,' rose, and walked to the table with drinks. He needed another one.

"Or perhaps she will go and he could just go with her!" Lady Dis' face lit up. "Wouldn't it be lovely? After all he can find pursuits for himself there as well. He loved Ered Lindon!"

"Or not," she said after a second of silence. Fili finished the second glass. "No, no, that certainly won't do," she said shaking her head. "I don't want him to leave! We have all only just settled, and he has his friends here. And you of course wouldn't want to part with him. We all need to stay together! I simply can't bear saying goodbye to you two again. Not again!" Her voice trembled, and large tears ran her cheeks.

Fili was starting to feel concerned for her. Her current emotional outbursts were surely exceeding her usual 'conniptions,' as Kili called her changing moods. She'd always had the moods, a short fuse, and quite a temper - but for the past two moons she'd been behaving like a child, crying one minute, angry the next. Kili and the girl to develop some sort of mutual interest was unlikely, but Fili could see how his Mother could hope. Talking about it as if it were a done deal and bawling because something had gone wrong was making Fili wonder if his Mother was suffering from some sort of a mental affliction.

Apparently while he was drinking his third mead, his Mother had continued prattling, and then she rose and stomped her foot.

"I'm putting an end to it! I'm going to Thorin right now. He needs to tell her to stay."

Fili almost dropped the glass.

"Amad, you do realise this is—" He almost said 'ridiculous,' but the mad light in his Mother's eyes warned him against the unwise choice of words. "You know what? I'll go. I'll do it."

"What?" She stopped in her tracks.

"I'll talk to Thorin. I will." Fili pressed his hand to his chest.

"Oh Fili, that's so kind of you!" she exclaimed and clapped her hands in delight. "He seemed quite irked today, whatever has gotten his breeches in a knot."

Lady Dis was now smiling radiantly, and Fili confirmed to himself that Thorin indeed needed to be talked to - except Kili wouldn't be the topic of that conversation. Neither would be Master Eorwyn, for that matter. Fili threw his Mother a concerned look over.

"I'll wait for your return here." She sat back down, still smiling blissfully, and folded her hands on her lap.

Fili gently touched her shoulder. "You know, amad, it could take a long time to— convince him. So I say, you go to bed, and I will… I will tell you everything tomorrow."

"First thing tomorrow?" she asked.

"Certainly."

When Fili closed the door behind her, he shook his head. Perhaps it was some sort of a feminine madness that he knew nothing about. Surely, a healer needed to look into it, but he was confident it could only come from Thorin, the only person who held any sway over lady Dis.

* * *

While he walked the passage, Fili thought that despite how bizarre and alarming as his Mother's behaviour had been recently it surely had given Fili an excellent excuse to strengthen his position in the household. He would share his observations with Thorin and then would carefully lead the conversation from his Mother's mad ideas regarding Kili and the bookkeeper onto said bookkeeper. The preposterous matrimonious plans of his Mother mattered not - unlike Thorin's seeming ire towards the Royal Court of Exchequer, which Fili was so eager to take under his responsibility.

And then he opened the door into Thorin's private halls, and walked through the first parlour still lost in his thoughts - and he pushed the door to the anteroom open expecting to see Nyr putting out candles and the fire as usual.

Fili froze on the threshold, his hand still on the ring of the knocker.

The red-haired bookkeeper stood, her back pressed to Thorin's desk. She looked cornered. He was just inches away, leaning to her face, his face twisted in an enraged grimace. His stance looked threatening, and suddenly all Fili could see was Thorin's fisted hands, the right one raised as if in preparation to strike.

And then the girl grabbed the doublet on his chest and jerked him towards her. And with some animalistic growl Thorin pressed a forceful kiss on her lips - and picked her up under her arms, and as much as threw her on his desk. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and Fili saw white stockings, because Thorin was bunching up her skirts, the black velvet and the clouds of lace underneath. And she moaned and some jumbled words poured out of her, and she twisted from under his lips and craned her neck, and turned so that Thorin could reach her neck. He as much as bit into her pale skin, and her eyes flew open - and that's when she saw Fili.


	79. Not Her

_Half an hour earlier..._

Thorin marched into his parlour and jerked the doublet off. Rage boiled in his blood. He took a deep breath in, but his chagrin wouldn't ebb. His head swam, and he realised he'd drunk more than he should have. He poured himself some water and toppled the drink down his throat. He then poured more, spilling and cursing quietly.

A knock came to his door.

"Aye?" he barked.

The door opened, and Nyr shuffled in.

"Will my lord be needing anything?" the servant asked in his usual monotonous voice.

"Nothing. Go to bed, Nyr," Thorin threw over his shoulder.

"Thank you, my lord," the Dwarf answered. "With pleasure. I'll just let Master Eorwyn in the bedroom then, and I'll repose."

Thorin spun on his heel and saw the old devil dash towards Thorin's bedchamber with the agility surprising for a decrepit old tortoise he always tried to appear.

"Wait!" Thorin exclaimed, but Nyr once again regained his convenient deafness.

The servant disappeared in the bedroom. Thorin heard the lock click, and the back door opened. She said something quietly, and after a short answer Nyr had gone. Thorin heard the door close behind him.

Thorin slowly and noisily exhaled. What was he supposed to do now? Going into the bedroom would mean he had to face her. He'd behaved like an oaf at dinner, and she was probably crying there behind the half-closed door. Or worse so, she was intending to explain herself, and ask forgiveness for hiding the truth from him, and he couldn't stand her anguish! He was angry with her: for lying to him, for pretending that nothing had been happening during the meal they'd had together! She had seemed somewhat distracted, but she hadn't said a single word about Svuir's offer. And he was angry with himself: for losing his temper during the Royal Dinner, for speaking harshly. He'd seen that she'd been hardly holding back tears after his outburst. He had every right to be irked with her, he reminded himself. On the other hand, he shouldn't have spoken thusly in front of their family. He'd humiliated her. And now he couldn't seem to stop recalling how her lips had been shaking and the pain had splashed in her eyes. And Thorin simply detested such emotions, and the entanglement of them, and—

The door flew open, and she rushed into the room like a black bird. Her face was twisted in a furious grimace.

"I've had it with you! That's the limit of it!" she hissed through gritted teeth, and Thorin winced away from her.

Clearly, she was not crying - or intending to explain herself.

"What came over you?" she continued castigating and shaking her finger at him, and her eyes blazed. "I don't understand you! And they blame women for—"

"You lied to me!" Thorin roared, immediately losing his composure. _She_ had no right to be outraged right now! She had been the one who'd created this predicament.

"I have not!" she gasped and pressed her fists into her hips. Somehow this gesture looked so odd that he took another step back from her. "How dare you?! I would never—"

Thorin reminded himself _she_ was in the wrong here!

"You lied to me when we had a meal midday!" Thorin chopped the air with his hand. "You ate and chatted and pretended nothing was happening!"

"Nothing _was_ happening!" she interrupted in almost a shout.

"Oh? So you taking the position in the Blue Mountains is 'nothing?'" he jeered. "Svuir said it had been as much as decided."

"Oh you— You are such a— You—" She seemed to be struggling to find a word to curse him, and he wasn't going to wait for her to succeed.

"And then you come to dinner dressed like a seductress to rub it in!" he hollered, and she recoiled and her lips twisted in a wry expression.

She then gave out a long exhale through her rounded lips.

"I should leave now. Leave you, and let you wallow in this— whatever this is—" she said quietly and gestured around him. "Because— Because I don't know how I am to handle you— to deal with—"

"You aren't supposed to _handle_ me!" he barked. "I don't fancy to be handled, to be manipulated and swindled!"

"You're supposed to trust me!" she cried back, and her hand flew up again, her index pointing at his face. "You're insulting me! You're insulting my love for you! You're disrespecting me!"

It was his turn to recoil from her.

"How am I—"

"Why didn't you just ask?!" she shouted into his face now, taking a step forward. "If you'd spoken to Master Svuir and you had a question, why haven't you—"

"Why haven't _you_?!" Something painfully clenched behind Thorin's ribs. It was an unfamiliar affliction, and he brushed it aside.

"Because there was nothing to tell!" she exclaimed. "Nothing that concerned you, at least."

"What?!" That was when Thorin lost the rest of his patience with the impossible woman. He fisted his hands. "You moving to the Blue Mountains doesn't concern me?! Or even just considering it!" he added because he knew that would be the next words falling from her lips.

"Me _considering_ it does not concern you," she said, throwing him a dark look from under her frowned brows. "As for my decision on what to do with my life, I repeat, you should have asked," she pronounced each word separately.

Thorin opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

"I didn't need to ask," he said stubbornly after a pause. He saw her chest rise in shallow breaths. "Svuir told me everything. How elated you were to have received the position. And how there is no one better suited for the vocation," he said venomously.

"That— That is what I'm talking about!" She flailed her hands in the air. "Do you not trust me at all? And I just don't understand how you can be so— inflexible! You decided that I had taken the position - and you don't seem to have any doubts!"

"If you didn't take it, why lie—"

"I didn't lie!" Her voice had grown shrieky. "I don't lie! Not to anyone, and more than anything, not to you! I would never— How could you—" Her breathing hitched, and she pressed her hand to her chest. "How can you even say such things?"

She swirled and faced away from him. He saw her shoulders quake, and immediately remorse flooded him.

"Eorwyn—"

"Don't you dare pity me!" she hissed and whipped her face to him. Her cheeks were tear-stricken, but there was mostly anger in her eyes. "Do not take back your words just because you are scared of a woman's tears! Ask your questions! Make your accusations!" She narrowed her bright green eyes. "C'mon!"

Thorin pressed his lips and glowered at her.

"It doesn't even come to your mind how much hardship you've caused me tonight," she said in a low voice. "We've gone through the same predicament during the Games. As soon as you're displeased, you make it known, no matter consequences. We have a duty, Thorin! We're to hide our association, for the sake of the women Mistress Algun is protecting. And yet you acted strange at the Stand. And do you honestly assume none of your kin noticed how unusual your manner with me was tonight?"

Thorin didn't enjoy being scolded like a child. He turned around and walked to his desk. There was a cruet of his favourite 'juniper water' there. And then he remembered he'd had quite enough to drink. He faced her again. She was studying him, a deep wrinkle lay between her brows.

"I have half a mind to leave," she said pensively. "And yet… Thorin, do you not see how—" She didn't finish, and her hands flew up and dropped helplessly.

The same pain bloomed behind his ribs, and he once again disregarded it. He suddenly felt tired.

"Did you accept Svuir's offer?" he asked quietly.

She hesitated and then shook her head.

"You didn't?" He needed her to say it - to confirm, to voice it, to reassure him.

"Don't you think I would tell you if I did?" she asked in an exasperated tone.

"You didn't mention anything during the meal, and—" He cleared his throat. "And isn't it everything you ever wanted? Isn't it—" He caught his breath.

"Even if it is, it is for me to decide," she said and shook her head again. "It just didn't come to my mind to mention the offer."

Thorin gave out a disbelieving chuckle. "It _concerns_ me, Eorwyn," he pressed the meaning. "You're my wife, for all intents and purposes."

"If I decided to go, _then_ I would tell you," she started. "While it was just an offer, I just didn't think I was obliged to include you—"

"Include me into your decision making?" he asked sardonically. "So, I was to sit and wait for yet another woman to choose her craft over me?"

Her eyes flew to his face.

"Is this what it is all about? It's about Mistress Algun?" she gasped.

"Forgive me if I draw parallels," he growled at her.

"I am not her!" she raised her voice again.

"It is yet to be seen." He was starting to grow mad again. "So, what did you say to Master Svuir?"

"I am not Mistress Algun!" she cried into his face. "I gave you my word! I'd wavered, and then I'd begged forgiveness... and I would never do it again!"

He didn't understand what she spoke about, and he ignored her words.

"I wouldn't have given you my heart if I wasn't certain it was yours forever!" she exclaimed.

"Perhaps, you didn't expect to have to choose between being my Queen, which, as you've mentioned so many times, you care not for - and your dearest dream come true!" he shouted.

"_You_ are my dream!" she screamed and rushed ahead and slammed her fisted hands into his chest. "You! Being your Queen!"

"You never wanted it!" he spat out, pain and fear grasping at his heart. "You said so many times! As did she!"

"Oh, how I hate this!" Her fists punched him again. The blows were sensitive. "Why can't you stop comparing?!"

"I'm not comparing!" he snarled like a wounded animal. "I'm... terrified! If you leave, like her, it will... _matter_! It didn't with her— But this time—"

"Never!" She grasped handfuls of his tunic. "Why can't you trust me? That I would never—" She pulled him closer. "I would never lie, and run away, and— I choose you! I want _you_! To be your wife, to bear your children, to—"

He didn't let her finish. He heard her, he'd heard everything he needed to hear. He grabbed her shoulders, and jerked her to him, and kissed her. He was being rough, and some sort of an anguished growl escaped him, but he couldn't hold back.

"Forgive me—" he exhaled into the kiss, and then he claimed her mouth again - because it _hurt_!

It hurt to imagine her gone - and the relief that she wasn't, hurt as well. This pain was sweet, though, and it rolled through his body like a wave of flame. And he seized her, and squeezed, and he was rumpling this maddening dress of her, greedily and desperately. She'd been so bewitching during the Dinner! The candlelight danced on the velvet, and her lips were red, and he could see a vein beat on her neck! And he'd almost lost her!

"Oh Fili!" she gasped, and he froze.

Surely, it hadn't been his sister-son's name she'd just breathed out into his mouth! And then he saw where she was looking.


	80. Juniper Water

**Silly Author's Note:**

**Happppppyyy birthday to me! And my SO, actually. (It's still funny after 12 years together.) This is my seventh birthday in the fandom, to think of it - and I'm still receiving Tolkien themed gifts. My dearest husband bought me a Boromir action figure, and my son drew me a Thorin riding a cat. (It's a separate story, but basically we bought some Hobbit toys on Etsy (you can see the photo on my Instagram, the nick is kkolmakov) and then toy Thorin was riding our cat Schmoopy into battle with a paper bag.) As I said, this is a silly author's note. Have a great night! Stay safe! :P**

**Love you all,**

**K.**

* * *

Eorwyn thrashed in the King's grasp.

"_Kurdel,_" he murmured, and she stilled and looked at him. "It's alright," he said.

She couldn't believe her eyes! He seemed almost serene and was even… smiling! Eorwyn couldn't see how it could be 'alright!' The two of them were… being carnal! On his desk! She grabbed the hem of her dress and tried pulling it down, but couldn't, because he was standing between her wide-spread legs! And his hot palm was still squeezing her thigh!

"Uncle," Fili rasped out, and Eorwyn squeezed her eyes.

For some reason all she could think of was that the prince could see the tops of her stockings, the lace straps that held them to her girdle - the very straps she'd been choosing so thoroughly for the King's pleasure.

"Halt," Thorin said loudly, and Eorwyn's eyes flew open.

Her gaze fell on the King's ear - because he'd turned his head and was now addressing Fili.

"Please, wait for me in the next room," the King said and pointed at the door to his study with his eyes.

"Uncle, I could come back_—_"

"The next room, please." The King's voice was calm but left no room for a refusal.

The prince turned awkwardly and walked to the door. Eorwyn understood that he was doing everything in his power to avoid looking at her.

"Oh Maiar save me," she exhaled when the door closed behind the younger Dwarf.

"They can't save you now," the King said, and Eorwyn gawked at him. He was laughing!

His beautiful blue eyes were squinted merrily, and then his shoulders shook in that charming full-body laughter of his.

"Thorin!"

"Do you think he noticed?" the King whispered.

"Thorin!"

"Aye?" he asked and grinned.

"It's a disaster!" she exclaimed, and he dove ahead and caught her mouth in a passionate kiss. "What are you doing?!" she gasped.

"What does it look like?" he murmured and slid his mouth onto her burning cheek. "I'm kissing you."

"Why?!" Eorwyn couldn't find any other words.

"You're delicious," he whispered into her ear. "And you're all mine."

Eorwyn started wiggling frantically, trying to free herself.

"Fili's in the other room! He's waiting for you! Thorin!"

He hummed, and then she felt the tips of his fingers tenderly brush at her neck.

"This necklace drives me mad," he murmured. "And this_—_"

His fingers followed the strings of pearls around her neck - and down between her breasts.

"Let me go!" she exclaimed, and he stopped and met her eyes. "What are you even_—_ Let me go!" She pressed her hand into his chest.

He immediately released her and took a step back.

"Kurdel," he said pacifyingly.

She jumped off the desk and started straightening her clothes.

"What are we going to do?! He'd seen— He's seen everything!"

"Not everything. Just your underskirts," the King answered with a velvet chuckle.

Eorwyn gave him a disbelieving look.

"Are you drunk?! Why aren't you_—_ affected?"

"I think I've sobered up through our row, my heart," he answered lightly. "And I'm not affected because there's nothing to be affected by. Except you," he added cocking one brow.

He then seemed to understand she didn't share his mood, and he said with a sigh, "It's not a disaster, kurdel. Just an inconvenience. I'll simply explain everything to Fili. He'll keep his mouth shut."

"You can't!" she exclaimed. "We swore secrecy! We promised_—_" She stumbled over the name. "We promised Mistress Algun that no one would know!"

"I think we can make an exception," the King said.

Eorwyn gaped at him in bewilderment - and then she had to agree. There was nothing else to do.

"What are you going to say?" she said.

"That you're my betrothed. That there are reasons we're keeping it secret." The King shrugged. "It's surely unplanned, but I can't see much trouble here."

He stepped aside and picked up his doublet from a settee.

"You will wait for me here, right?" he asked. "Or you could go to the bedchamber." He wasn't looking at her, but she could see his left eyebrow jump up a bit. He smirked, clearly pretending to be busy with the clasps on the doublet. "Perhaps, you should go… prepare for bed."

"I_— _But_—_" Eorwyn made a few more squeaky noises and grew silent.

Allowing him to see how flustered she was would only pay into the man's self-pride. She huffed some air out, turned around, and started walking towards his bedchamber.

"Please, keep the dress on," he said behind her, and goosebumps ran her back. "I want to unlace it myself."

Eorwyn looked at him over her shoulder.

"I think my lord is being presumptuous," she said haughtily and jerked her chin up.

"In what way?" he purred.

"In assuming those are carnal pleasures that will be waiting for him when he's back to that room," she answered. "If I remember correctly, we were in the middle of a quarrel when we were interrupted."

"I thought we had resolved the misunderstanding," he said, and the corner of his lips curled up even more. "I distinctly remember begging forgiveness. Aye, there has definitely been an apology."

"I don't remember accepting said apology," Eorwyn bit back.

He studied her face, and then his eyes ran her body. Eorwyn blushed under his predatory gaze.

"Then let me apologise again, my heart," he said. "Just allow me a few minutes with my sister-son, and I'll be all yours. I'll accept any... punishment you feel necessary to inflict on me."

Eorwyn turned sharply and as much as fled the room. She felt they indeed needed to talk more - and she doubted she'd want to.

* * *

Fili stood in the middle of Thorin's study. Sitting down had seemed unfitting, so he just made a small circle around the room and then stopped in front of Thorin's desk. It was clearly unused, the writing utensils were pristine, and there were no papers on it. Fili had seen parchments on the desk in the parlour, though - the very parchments that Thorin had pushed off wedging between the legs of the bookkeeper. Fili cleared his throat.

One thought swirled in his mind. Thorin must have been unaware of Kili's possible prospects with the bookkeeper! And then Fili immediately felt indignation flood him: how could the girl behave thusly?! She's been flirting with Kili at the range, she'd sat with him at the Stand! Their Mother had been hardly subtle about the matrimonial plans!

"Pour yourself a drink," Thorin said behind Fili. "You look like you need one."

"Mother sent me to talk to you," Fili rushed to explain. He had thrice cursed coming to Thorin's halls by now!

Thorin chuckled. Fili noticed the unlaced collar of the Dwarf's tunic.

"What about?" Thorin asked and threw Fili a laughing look over the rim of his glass.

There was water in it, but Fili decided he needed something stronger.

"About Master— Master Eorwyn," Fili answered, pouring himself some juniper water. The drink burnt his tongue, and Fili swallowed with difficulty. He wasn't fond of the spicy herbal flavour.

"What about Master Eorwyn?" Thorin continued with his nonchalant questions. Fili threw him an irritated look.

"Mother was concerned that Master Eorwyn as indeed leaving Erebor to take the position in the Blue Mountains."

"She's not." Thorin finished his water. He then sighed and sat in his chair. "I should use this desk more," he murmured and brushed his palm to the wood of the table top.

"And I assume neither is she intending to enter a courtship with Kili," Fili said pointedly.

"You should ask _her_ yourself," Thorin said with a low chuckle. "She's not fond of people making assumptions regarding her plans in life. Pour me a drink too, laddie."

Fili stepped to the desk and busied himself with a glass for Thorin, meanwhile gathering his thoughts.

Thorin sighed again. "There's a reason we can't announce it yet," he said slowly, "But as you must have summoned, Master Eorwyn is my betrothed. So unless she decides to break it off, I don't foresee her entering one with Kili."

Fili congratulated himself on observantly noting that Thorin hadn't mentioned the possibility of _him_ ceasing the association. Clearly, he had no intention to. Fili took another big gulp of the drink. What could she possibly offer to beguile Thorin so, he asked himself suddenly. If Fili were superstitious, he'd suspect sorcery: Thorin just didn't seem himself. Fili glanced at the older Dwarf. Thorin was dishevelled, a smug grin hid in the corners of his lips, and then he leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs in front of him.

"You'll have to keep it to yourself, of course," Thorin said and savoured the next sip of juniper water. "The reasons are purely political, they have nothing to do with Master Eorwyn herself. Everything will become clear soon." He stretched in the chair with a satisfied grunt. "So, will you not congratulate me?" he asked sardonically.

"Many blessings, Uncle," FIli muttered and toppled the rest of his drink in one gulp.

"Excellent," Thorin murmured and swirled the spirit in his glass.

"And shall I say to Mother? Do you wish her to stop her matchmaking?"

Thorin shrugged. "I see no harm in it," he said.

"There surely will be harm when she finds out," Fili muttered under his breath, not sure if he wanted his Uncle to hear. He put his glass back on the tray. "Well, I bid you a good night, Uncle."

Thorin saluted him with his glass, and Fili walked into the parlour. The bookkeeper was gone by then, and Fili suppressed the idle curious thought whether she was in Thorin's bedroom. It was surely none of his business.

He walked back to his room, shaking his head, and still recalling Thorin and the small woman on his desk. Thorin surely wasn't as old as Fili thought before!


	81. Too Late

Eorwyn spent the next fortnight studying with Master Svuir, making regular day trips to Dale and Escaroth, training at the Grounds with her new mentor, a pleasant young Dwarf named Tyr - and spending her nights in the King's bedchamber. Eorwyn couldn't help but note that something had changed for him after the row they'd had after the Royal Family Dinner. He was even warmer and softer with her now, he seemed more enamoured and more willing to express it. Eorwyn decided to simply relish it without questioning his new playfulness and openness.

She'd been also fortunate - or perhaps cunning enough - to have avoided the company of any of the King's kin - and then a day came when she received an invitation to visit the Grounds the next day. It was signed by the Princess and stated that 'everyone in the Royal; family would be delighted if she could attend.'

Eorwyn finished her class with Master Svuir and was packing her belongings, when the Auditor said, without lifting his eyes off the parchment he was writing, "You are intending to accept the offer, aren't you?"

Eorwyn's hand twitched, and an ink bottle rolled away from her on the table. Thankfully, she'd twisted the cap tightly. She had already given her answer to the vocation proposal in a letter to Lady Sigga the next day after the Royal Dinner, and Master Svuir knew it. He hadn't reacted to the news when she'd told him. Eorwyn still didn't know his opinion on the subject, but she kept reminding herself that she wasn't supposed to concern herself with it. At the time she had been still dealing with the King's feelings towards the proposal, and she had had her hands full, figuratively speaking. She had no mental and emotional capacity to worry about Master Svuir's feelings. So, she reminded herself it couldn't possibly be the same 'offer' he spoke of.

"Pardon?" she asked, chasing the ink bottle.

"To go to the Blue Mountains, Master Eorwyn," the auditor grumbled.

Eorwyn stared at him aghast.

"To visit their Court of Exchequer and share our bookkeeping customs." The Dwarf's tone was now exasperated.

"I have not received such an offer," Eorwyn answered.

"I got the letter from Lady Sigga two days ago. Yours must have gotten delayed." The Dwarf went back to his writing. "Will you go?" He asked without lifting his eyes.

"I— Well, you see—" Eorwyn muttered, not sure what to answer.

"I can always send Burin," he said with a shrug.

Eorwyn pursed her lips. Burin was Master Svuir's previous student. He was employed at the Court of Exchequer in Erebor. Eorwyn had heard rumours that he had been dismissed from the classes with Master Svuir due to his negligence. Eorwyn had little opportunity to work with him, but she'd seen his registers. She thought them sloppy.

"I will consider it," she answered and looked down, pretending to be busy with stuffing her papers into her bag. "Once I have the letter, I'll write to Lady Sigga immediately."

Master Svuir didn't respond, but Eorwyn hardly expected an answer. She was already by the door, when he called to her again, "Tell me it is not romance, or some other frivolous preoccupation that governs your decisions these days. The sheer thought of you wasting your talent and pursuing such nonsense is… disappointing."

Eorwyn stood her back to him, her hand on the cold brass of the knocker. Her first urge was of course defending herself, and saying she 'of course cared about her numbers more than anything,' and feeling horrible and pained and like said disappointment - and then she remembered she was going to be his Queen soon, which had been her sound and well thought through decision! She had chosen romance and other 'frivolous preoccupations' such as being a wife and hopefully soon a mother over an empty study in the halls in the Blue Mountains - and she would be damned if she was allowing anyone to judge her on that! She had a lot of work ahead of her: diplomacy, and trade, and court duties, and many other responsibilities a Queen had upon her - so her decision could not be considered lazy or cowardly. She did not deserve his cold words! And then another thought came. As unfair and unjustified as his words were, they simply didn't matter! It was but a judgement of one person, and she neither lost or gained anything from it.

"Have a lovely rest of the day, Master Svuir," Eorwyn said calmly and walked out.

She had considered saying something like 'And I'll go enjoy some frivolties with my sweetheart,' but then she just shrugged and walked away with a bounce to her step.

* * *

Eorwyn shook her head. She needed to stop by her rooms more often, she told herself. She tended to eat, change, bathe, and sleep in the King's halls. And now a whole stack of correspondence was waiting for her. She'd probably forgot to check the night before when she'd rushed in, grabbed a few pieces of garments, and ran out. The letter from Lady Sigga was among the correspondence. She expressed regret that the Court in the Blue Mountains would not gain such a talent as Eorwyn's in its midst, but courteously expressed the hope that Master Eorwyn would find an enjoyable vocation elsewhere. Since no Auditor was to be appointed for a while, Lady Sigga was asking for a member of the Erebor Court of the Exchequer to visit Ered Lindon for two moons to share the knowledge and the skill of the Erebor auditors. Eorwyn sat down on her bed and reread the letter.

It would take at least three moons to simply get to Ered Luin, and such a visit would surely stretch, and then three moons would be spent on a return journey - without much of a promise of safety, from Orcs, and spiders, and Goblins. Eorwyn shuddered at the memory of the day - or was it a night? - that she'd encountered the Dwarves in those caverns.

Eorwyn sighed. She would not be able to take the trip… and would she want to, she asked herself. So many dangers would await her on her way there - and she would miss the King dearly. She toed off her shoes and wiggled her toes. The day had been long, she'd had her classes, and before it, in the morning, she'd worked for many hours on the ledgers to be sent to Iwar. She still had a few hours before dinner, she thought, and yawned. Perhaps, just a short nap wouldn't harm.

* * *

She opened her eyes and stared at the dark wall. She suspected she'd been asleep longer than she'd planned: her body felt stiff, and her head heavy. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She could not see the clock tower from her window, so she simply picked up her chicken cloak, threw it over her shoulders, and slipped out of her chamber. She walked the passages, noting the emptiness. Surely, it was too late to go to the King's halls now, she thought, and the view of the clock tower confirmed it. It was past three bells now. Eorwyn stopped indecisively. If she turned around, this would be the first night she wouldn't be spending in his bed. On the other hand, he was surely asleep now. Eorwyn pushed off her hood and ruffled her curls, trying to think.

"Are you lost, lassie?" a voice came from behind her.

She turned around and looked at the unfamiliar Dwarf who stood behind her, leaning against the wall. Eorwyn instinctively took a step back, clenching her fists. She was always told Dwarves never forced attention onto each other, to say nothing of any sort of carnal violence, but she could see that the Dwarf in front of her was drunk. The old fears rushed back into her mind, and everything shook inside.

"Are you alright, girlie?" He was now walking towards her. "You're pale as ash. Come, chat with me." He stretched his hand to her. She could see how wobbly he was. "I see you're just as lonely as I am."

She ordered her body to move - but she couldn't. Her legs didn't listen to her, and the man's hand lay on her upper arm. She jolted.

"Oh, you are a Tall One!" He gasped and leaned to her face. He was young, about the princes' age, tall, and red-haired. "You're that bookkeeper of the—"

"Let— I don't—" Eorwyn rasped out.

Her mind was as if split in two: one half screamed at her to run or at least tell him his touch was unwelcome; but the old terror and pain made every muscle in her body stiff, as if frozen in anticipation of the tortures she thought she'd managed to expel out of her memory.

"You're shaking!" He gave her a concerned look and squeezed her upper arm. "What's the matter?" He was now but a step away. She could smell ale in his breath. "I've had quite a few, birdie. You'll have to excuse the— the head spinning thing." He laughed loudly. "My mates from Ered Luin had brought this excellent mead, a whole dozen of barrels, and we—"

Eorwyn tried to pull her arm out of his grip, but he didn't notice, absorbed in his story.

"—and I told him, 'Women don't like jesters like you!'" he continued, and then burst into thundering drunk laughter.

He jerked her to him, and suddenly she was pressed flush into him.

"Woah, birdie, aren't you a tad forward?" he boomed, still laughing. "Not that I complain! You might be a _siginkanan, _but you ain't that bad_—_"

And that was when Eorwyn's body suddenly woke up. She jerked her arm out of his hand.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed and tried to move away.

She wasn't quick enough. His body - unstable and heavy - followed the movement of her arm, and on inertia he started falling into her. She saw his large mouth stretched in a toothy grin, and he opened his arms as if trying to give her a bearhug.

Her training hadn't been long - but it had yielded fruit. Without thinking, she grabbed his forearm, and pushed her foot along the cobblestone on the street, cut him under his knee, pushing him onto the ground, onto his back - and followed his fall with a blow of her elbow into his face.

The Dwarf bellowed, covering his face with his hands, jerking on the ground like a giant bug. A string of throaty sounds of Khuzdul poured out of him, with only a few words in Westron.

"What's this for, birdie?" he yelped. "What did I do?"

Eorwyn was already running away.

"Hey wait!" he screamed behind her - and then Eorwyn's shoe caught on an edge of a cobblestone, and she fell, still flying forward, scraping her palms and knees to the ground, with a pained cry.


	82. Ein

"Are you alright, birdie?!" the Dwarf yelled behind her, and Eorwyn pushed her torso up off the ground on her arms. They were wobbly.

She looked over her shoulder and saw him sitting, one hand pressed to his extensively bleeding face.

"Are you, or are you not alright?" he yelled again. "Master Eorwyn, innit?" he asked, still in a raised - and nasal - voice.

He wasn't trying to get up, and Eorwyn's terror ebbed.

"I fell," she answered in a ridiculous surprised tone.

"Serves you right. What did my nose do to you?" He let go and immediately more blood poured out. He cursed quietly in Khuzdul, and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I'm jesting, I'm sorry you fell. But your violence was uncalled for!"

"You grabbed me!" Eorwyn shouted back in a defensive tone.

"I almost fell on you, there's a difference." He wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Like I said, I apologise for the— unstablely— unstableness— that I fall… a bit. My kin were celebrating a betrothal, and I overindulged." He looked her over again. "Can you get up? Are you alright? I don't want to scare you, but do you need help?"

Eorwyn started rising, hissing, and cringing. Her palms hurt, and when she looked down she saw deep bleeding bruises. She then noticed that her stockings were torn, and her knees bled as well.

"I'm alright," she shouted to him.

"May I get up, please?" he asked in an overdramatic whine. "The ground is cold."

Eorwyn studied him and nodded.

"You may," she said.

He did, huffing and puffing and giving out feigned groans.

"Just promise me no one will find out I was defeated by a person half my weight." He wiped his face again and grinned at her. "What a hogwash! Can I come up to you? Or are you going to break my arm this time?"

Eorwyn gave him a sarcastic look.

"I think you're safe - for now," she said. "As long as you don't start falling on me again."

He lifted his hands in a preposterous surrender gesture. "I'm straight as a tree now. I think most of the mead escaped my body through my nose." He sniffled and walked up to her.

She'd gotten up by then, and they looked each other over. She saw that he was frowning now.

"I apologise," he said gravely. "I was in such a jolly mood that I didn't even notice that I was overstepping. And—"

"I apologise for breaking your nose," she blurted out.

He gave out a hearty laugh. He had brilliant grey-green eyes and the beard of the brightest orange she'd ever seen.

"That was a very good blow. I was drunk and slow, but even still, masterfully done!" He bestowed her with a funny bow. "I'd shake your hand, but I'm being cautious."

"I've been training," she said and couldn't help but smile back.

"My compliments to your mentor." He looked down. "You should have those looked at." He pointed at her legs with his index finger.

Her skirt was torn, and her stockings were visible, hanging down in long shreds. Eorwyn grabbed the sides of the hole and tried to cover her legs.

"I can turn away," he offered. "But please let me amend and repair at least some of the damage I've caused. Allow me to take you to the infirmary."

"Thank you, but no, I— I have to go," Eorwyn said. "I'm expected somewhere."

"You're going to go 'somewhere' in this state?"

Eorwyn gave it a long thought, and said, more to herself than to the Dwarf, "Aye. It'll be times worse if these bruises are discovered in the morning." She sighed.

"Ah, a husband then," he said with a laugh.

"What? No!" Eorwyn squeaked.

"A betrothed then." When he smiled, he funnily wrinkled his nose. "I'd be mad if I found my woman bruised. Is he a fierce warrior? Should I worry?"

She could see he was jesting, and somehow some childish frolicking came over her.

"_I_ am the fierce warrior," she said and pressed her fists into her hips. "I landed you on your shoulder blades and broke your nose—"

"I think you might not have in actuality." He gingerly touched it. "But do go on your bragging."

"And I don't need a man to defend me as 'his woman,'" she said haughtily.

But if the row they'd had after the Family had taught Eorwyn anything, it was that not telling something to the King Under the Mountain somehow equated in the latter's thick skull to lying.

"I'll be on my way, Master—"

"Ein, son of Finnar," he introduced himself with another bow, and then jerked and pressed his hand to his nose again.

"Clearly you are the one who is in need of medical help, Master Ein, son of Finnar," Eorwyn pointed out, hiding her remorse under her sardonic tone. "Will you find your way to the infirmary?"

"Oh aye, it wouldn't be the first time," he answered roguishly.

"Well, here's where we part then," she said. "I wish you a quick recovery."

"Not after I've been felled by such a mighty warrior. And I wish you no trouble with your sweetbee," he said with a chuckle, saluted her with an open palm, and sashayed away.

Eorwyn sighed and hoped she could find a way to sneak into the Royal Halls.

* * *

She made a mental note to thank Steward Nyr when she got a chance: there wasn't a single locked door in her way. Soon she was slowly opening the door to the King's bedchamber.

"Thorin," she whispered, tip-toeing inside. "Thorin?"

She could see his shape on the bed, under the heavy covers. There was no candle but her eyes had adjusted to the darkness while she'd been creeping through the hallways.

"Thorin?" Eorwyn raised her voice.

She considered approaching the bed and touching his shoulder under his white undertunic - but then a thought came that he was a seasoned warrior, and Maiar knew what he'd do when woken up abruptly in the middle of the night.

"Thorin!"

He stirred and rolled on his back.

"It's still dark..." he grumbled and threw one long arm over his eyes. "Go away..."

Eorwyn giggled - from the absurdity of her predicament, and because she was now cold and shaking, her nervous reaction catching up with the events of the evening.

The King rubbed his face with both hands and rose on his elbows. And then she saw his eyes widen.

"Eorwyn?"

"I fell," she said in a high-pitched voice. "I need your help..."

He sat up in one sharp movement.

"What?!"

"I'm bleeding," she continued. She wasn't sure why it sounded as if she was delivering some joyful news. "I need— I need bandages."

He threw the covers aside and rolled off the bed in a forceful fluid motion. An instant later he was in front of her.

"What happened?!"

"I fell," she repeated meekly. "My hands are hurt. Again." She lifted the hands, palms up, to his face - and burst into tears.

"Mahal, you are!" He carefully picked up her hands on his open palms. "I'll call Nyr—"

"No!" she exclaimed. "Please, I don't— don't want anyone—" A sob quaked her body. "It's more funny than anything— I don't know why I'm crying—"

A storm of thoughts twirled in her mind: that she was behaving like a mad woman, that anyone in his place would be irritated with the hysterical ravings, and that she needed to explain to him what had happened, and—

He softly put his hands on her upper arms and pulled her in. She pressed into his chest, and his smell filled her nose, and she closed her eyes, and let the warmth and the sense of safety roll over her.

"Kurdel, what's hurt?" he asked softly, and she sighed in gratitude.

She'd expected him to act and speak in ire, which would simply come from him being worried - and she was happy he didn't.

"My hands. And my knees. I fell on the cobblestone, because I was running."

He slowly moved away, and his eyes searched her gaze. "Why were you running?"

She wanted to lie and say it was because she couldn't wait to get to him.

"Because I thought I was being chased." She awkwardly cleared her throat. "Could I wash my hands and— other bruises first, and then I'll tell you everything?"

"Come, sit," he said and led her to a bench by the wall.

She sat obediently. He lit up several candles in the room and left for the bathchamber. Eorwyn looked down at the hem of her cloak. She wanted to make sure it wasn't damaged, but her hands were still bleeding and she didn't want to soil the fabric.

The King showed up - disheveled and barefoot - with a basin, a towel thrown over his arm, and a basket of vials and bottles.

"It'll sting," he said and gave her a comforting smile.

"Aye, I know. Have had that before, remember?" she said with a strangled laugh.

He threw her a look from under a raised eyebrow.

"Pardon me, I don't know why I'm frolicking," she muttered.

"You've had a scare. It's just your mind coping." He knelt in front of her and started carefully washing her palms with a soft cloth, warm water, and soap.

Eorwyn cringed and hissed, but tried to keep it quiet.

"And your knees as well," he said with a shake of his head. "What were you trying to do? To slide like on ice on the cobblestone?"

"No, that would be silly," she said with another mad giggle of hers. "I was escaping a ravisher."

His hand on her skin froze. He slowly lifted his face. Eorwyn's hand flew up and pressed to her mouth. Silence in the room was deafening, and she rushed to amend the situation.

"But he wasn't one, I promise!" she cried out. "It was all just one terrible misunderstanding, and I think I've broken his nose, but he was quite civil about it! And then we even made friends, I think. He truly didn't mean any harm, and—" Eorwyn stopped talking because she just couldn't understand the expression on the King's face.

"You— You broke someone's nose?" he asked slowly.

Eorwyn took a deep breath. She needed to explain properly before it all got out of hand!

"I was coming to you, and I met a man in the Eastern Halls. He was inebriated, and I misunderstood his friendly manner. You know of my past. And I'm of Men," she said apologetically. "Girls and women of Men know they are never safe. So, I reckon, some old fears of mine came back. And I—" She chewed her bottom lip. "It just came over me, I got so frightened, that he would—" She gave the King a pointed look. "And I hit him, just as my mentor taught me. I dropped him on his back and elbowed him in his nose. There was a lot of blood." She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth that rose at the memory. "But then I fell, and I was going to run away, but we spoke, and I understood I was wrong. It's Erebor, after all," she said with a hint of a laugh. "I'm in no danger here."

The King studied her face, and she gave him a shaky smile.

"It's all so very nonsensical," she whispered.

"What's nonsensical is your shoes," he deadpanned. "They are cheap and slippery. You need new ones." He was frowning and looked furious. "You're buying new ones tomorrow."

"I will! I promise!" she squeaked - and then threw her arms around his neck. "I promise I'll buy new shoes… Anything you want..."

He embraced her tightly and squeezed her.

"Thank you," she exhaled and sniffled.

"We need to put balms on your scrapes," he muttered and she shook her head - as much as pressing herself into him with all her might allowed.

"Just a few more seconds," she whined. "Let me stay with you."

"Take all the time you need," he whispered, and his hot palm cupped the back of her head. "Nonsensical woman..."

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**I started a new modern story on Wattpad! And I'm really, really EXCITED about it! I even made a video about it for my YouTube channel. Maybe, it's something that you might be excited about as well? ;) Have a look if you're up for it - especially if you're interested in what happens with Ein, son of Finnar in a modern AU, because he's not going anywhere from this fanfic either *evil giggle* :P And in general, stay in touch! Find my author's Facebook page (Katya Kolmakov - Author) and my YouTube. It's all very silly and my quarantine hair is wild, but maybe you'll be just a bit entertained and life will feel just a bit less terrifying!**

**Stay safe!**

**Love you all ardently,**

**Katya**


	83. Important Matters

Eorwyn woke up and raised her hands in front of her face, stretching. And then she saw the white gauze and gingerly wiggled her fingers. The skin on her palms pulled and hurt. The night before the King had cleaned, treated, and bandaged her bruises. And then he'd commanded her to go to sleep, and it had been the first night she'd spent in his bedchamber that they had not engaged in carnal pleasures. She'd fallen asleep immediately, but now she felt as if something was missing. She stretched again and realised that her body felt stiff and uncomfortable. She wondered if it were the lack of raptures that had caused it and not the ordeal of the previous night - and giggled. It seemed she'd developed quite a dependence.

The King was sleeping on the opposite side of the bed, on his back, his right hand on his chest. He was occupying uncharacteristically little room. Eorwyn moved closer to him and touched his shoulder.

"Thorin," she called softly.

He was frowning in his sleep, and she pulled the hand back. Perhaps, he wouldn't welcome being disturbed. He'd gotten quite little sleep. She got off the bed, walked to the bathchamber, attended to her needs, and washed. She knew she wouldn't fall asleep again, and it felt close to dawn. Nyr would come soon. She was brushing her hair when she heard the King's voice in the bedchamber.

She went back and found him half-sitting, leaning against the headboard. His eyes ran her body.

"I'm keen on you like this," he said softly.

"Like what?" Eorwyn asked.

"Like—" He gestured around her. "With your hair down, and in these garments."

She looked down at herself: she only had her bloomers, underskirt, and the sheath on.

"Half bare?" she asked with a laugh.

"Come," he said and stretched his hand to her.

She gladly walked to the bed, climbed on it, and straddled him. She had to stretch her legs on two sides of his body, her knees still ached acutely. His large rough palm cupped her face, and he led her to his lips. Eorwyn felt like a pat of butter left on a sunny windowsill - and then lust came. She deepened the kiss, but the King's caresses felt more sentimental than lascivious.

"You look... private. You are— just for me," he murmured, and his soft lips tenderly slid on her throat. "Simply _mine_. No dress, no braids… I'll have you like this every morning soon."

Eorwyn closed her eyes, relishing his caresses, her mood now matching his.

"And your hair," he whispered, and his fingers tangled into her mane. "Soon there will be braids in it, _my_ braids."

Eorwyn smiled at him lovingly. "I _am_ just for you."

"Aye." He sealed the word with a firm kiss, making her arch into him. "But right now it shows." He brushed the tips of his fingers to her shoulder. "You're... kindred, unadorned." He kissed the shoulder. "Not that I have not enjoyed that dress of yours at the Family Dinner."

She didn't want to bring up the row they'd had then, but curiosity rose.

"You said nothing," she said and returned the favour, kissing his cheekbone and then his temple. "You said I was dressed like a seductress - and it hardly sounded like a compliment."

He smirked lop-sidedly.

"You looked ravishing. You _are_ ravishing," he amended. "And the dress was excellent. Except—"

"Except you tore its lace, because it apparently didn't come off fast enough," Eorwyn feigned irritation. "And I cannot bring it back to be mended because I can't explain the damage without disclosing I have a lover."

"At least you have a satisfied and grateful lover," he purred and went back to kissing her shoulder. He then pushed the strap off it and licked her freckled skin. "Golden and sweet, pure _haluw_."

Eorwyn giggled and moved slightly away and looked in his eyes.

"What honeyed words," she murmured and shook her head in jest. "No one would ever believe me if I told them the King Under the Mountain was such a sweet talker." She picked up a thick braid on the side of his face and twirled it in her fingers. "Perhaps they shouldn't know. Even without it, every woman in Erebor will envy me."

He chuckled. "Who's a sweet talker now?" She still held the brush in her left hand, and he took it. "Could I?"

She nodded and watched him gently pick up the strands of her hair and run the brush through them. He then pushed his hand into her mane, scraping her head, and lifting more locks to brush. It felt wonderful, and she closed her eyes. She'd been industriously studying the volumes on Dwarven traditions and customs - whenever she had a free minute to run to the library - and she knew the significance of allowing another to brush and braid one's hair. The intimacy of it only compared to a carnal union.

"I remember the first time I noticed it," he said quietly, and Eorwyn slowly opened her eyes. There was so much tenderness and love in his face that she gasped. He gave her an open look, hiding none of his emotion. "Your hair. You came for dinner, still dressed like a boy, and the wives talked of weddings. Your hair was short, and it curled. In the back." He smiled and tucked a lock behind her ear. "And I think that was when I suddenly saw you were—"

He paused, and Eorwyn whispered, "What?"

He chuckled again and tapped his finger to the tip of her nose. "Not a boy."

Eorwyn barked a surprised laugh. "Oin had to unbind my chest in Mirkwood! And you'd seen me almost unclothed after that!"

"I had seen you, but only by accident. I never _looked_," he said pointedly. "During that dinner? I noticed."

"Noticed what?"

"The neck. The shoulders. The bosom." He marked each part he mentioned with an aimed small kiss, and Eorwyn was starting to get distracted from his words. But she wanted to hear more of such confessions!

"Was that when—" she asked, her voice breathy. "Was that when you— started to desire me?"

"No, it came later." He still didn't seem to mind the conversation, and Eorwyn delighted in it. She'd always thought men cared not for such talk, but then she reminded herself that Dwarves appreciated their lovers. Being open and vulnerable in an association was considered a sign of courage and wisdom, not a weakness, as a Man would think.

"When?" she asked greedily.

"I don't know. We worked together, you proved yourself capable. You are clever with numbers. You have mettle. And your hair grew longer, and the dresses started showing more."

She could see he was now jesting.

"Ah, so it is all about the bosom then," she drew out.

"And the bottom," he said and looked down and from the corner of his eye.

"You'd seen me in trousers before it! It couldn't have been the bottom!" she cried out, and he guffawed.

"No, it wasn't the bottom." He cupped both sides of her face now, and she squinted.

Now it was he who was heating up, and pushed the second strap off her shoulder, and started bunching up the hem of her sheath - but Eorwyn wanted her answers!

"Then what?" she asked. "What was it then?"

"What was what?" he muttered distractedly, his lips dancing on the tops of her breasts now.

And then a knock came to the door. Judging by the loudness and the seemingly irritated tone of it, that was Nyr behind that door. Both Eorwyn, and the King groaned, in disappointment, but for quite different reasons.

"You should stay," he said and bucked his hips.

Eorwyn giggled.

"Clearly it's not your mind making decisions right now, my lord," she murmured and squirmed on his length, hard and hot, that she could feel through two layers of thin fabric of their undergarments. "We both have matters to attend."

"Damn the matters! We're staying in bed!"

"Thorin, we can't! I have to—"

He pushed his hand in the hair in the back of her head and pulled her closer. She blinked frantically, staring in his burning blue eyes.

"If you tell me, I'll let you go right now. But think about it, kurdel, are those matters that important?" His voice rumbled and rolled in his throat. "Or perhaps all of them can go_ aklâf_, and instead we will stay here and..._ enjoy_ each other in full."

Eorwyn swallowed the knot in her throat and then shouted, "Please, come back later with our breakfast, Steward Nyr!"

The King smirked, his eyes narrowed, the predatory fire in them burning only brighter - and Eorwyn lunged ahead, pushing him on his back.

* * *

She stayed until it was time to have their breakfast, and then after breakfast, and then until midday meal. They did indeed enjoy each other many times; they talked and laughed; they practiced Khuzdul, which mostly consisted of naming body parts and being distracted by said parts. And then it was time to go to the Grounds.

She was still lying in his bed, bare and disheveled, on her stomach, when he walked out of the bathchamber, fully dressed now. He was buckling his belt, and she ogled him in adoration. Over his tunic he wore a leather breastplate, and the trousers were tight and hugged his strong legs most attractively. Some sort of a proprietary pride flooded her. He was splendid - and all hers!

"Why are you dressed like this?" she asked, dangling her feet.

"It's my sparring time. Dwalin, myself, and my sister-sons usually train at this time."

"Ah, this explains the invitation," Eorwyn said and snorted. "Princess Dis has quite a determined mind."

"What is it?" he asked.

"She invited me to visit the Grounds today, at this time." Eowyn gave him a pointed look.

He hummed, came up to the bed, and looked down at her from under a raised eyebrow.

"And will you?"

"Of course," she murmured and rolled on her back. She stretched her hands and brushed her fingertips up along his thighs. "Now that I know what you wear there, I simply have to attend."

He bent down and pressed his hands, his arms straight, on two sides of her head. His dark silky hair hung around her like a velvet curtain. Eorwyn grinned widely.

"Are you certain it's not my sister-son's archery you're coming to observe?"

"You have sister-sons? I can't recall," she sing-songed. "Do I understand it right that velvet that dress you so brutally tore was to your liking?"

"You know it was," he answered slowly lowering his upper body. The muscles bulged on his upper arms, and Eorwyn slid up her palms along them. A sweet shudder ran through her body.

"Seeing you in this legwear and the breastplate has an equal effect on me," she said.

He placed a slow upside kiss on her mouth.

"Keep talking like this, and we are not going anywhere," he chuckled.

"We should," she said. "And then I get to tear clothes off _you_."

"You have your deal," he said, and then jerked his body back and away from her. "Get dressed, kurdel. I see too much of your skin to keep my hands off you."

Eorwyn snickered and rolled off the bed. She marched in the bathchamber and heard a growl behind her. Perhaps, her bottom had played part in the King's emerging enthrallment all those moons ago, after all.


	84. The Grounds

Eorwyn stepped out into the Grounds through a side entrance. She'd waited for half an hour after the King had left his halls, and then sneaked out with the help of Nyr. On her way out, she'd thanked the old Dwarf thoroughly, and then on some sort of an impulse she'd leaned in and kissed his cheek. He'd seemed utterly pleased and kept muttering something contented all through their discrete journey.

The Summer Grounds were a large open courtyard, in the Upper Halls, half of which consisted of an enormous balcony, open to the sun and the winds. The weather was still balmy, and small fluffy white clouds ran across the cerulean skies above. The sunlight hit Eorwyn's eyes, and she shielded them, looking around in search of the King and his kin. And then she heard the voice.

"And I told him, 'You go first, Elf!'"

Eorwyn's jaw slacked, and she stared at Ein, son of Finnar, as the small crowd of Dwarves surrounding him burst into loud laughter. He grinned from ear to ear, and she saw a familiar Dwarf from the carpenter guild clap her hand to Ein's shoulder.

"Well said, laddie," another acquaintance of Eorwyn's said - and that was when Ein saw her.

"Mahal help me, it's you! The mighty warrior!" he hollered and rushed to her.

He came to a sudden stop right in front of her, and she couldn't help but smile widely.

"Oh birdie, I'd embrace you but as you can see I haven't recovered from my last attempt!"

He pointed at his nose. It was black and blue, and swollen. Eorwyn immediately felt remorse rise.

"Oh don't frown, birdie! Wear your victories proudly! How are your knees?"

"Master Eorwyn," Prince Kili's voice made her turn. "Good afternoon! You're here! And I see you met lord Ein, son of Finnar."

"Good afternoon," Eorwyn said politely. She felt some sort of odd irritation at the interruption of her conversation with Eir - although that would be surely unreasonable.

"We met yesterday," the red-haired Dwarf said in a joly voice. "I owe this decoration to Master Eorwyn." He once again pointed at his nose.

"What?" Kili looked between them. "You can't be serious!"

"With her elbow! You should have heard the crack!" Ein hollered and waved his hands in the air.

"What?!" Kili now stared at Eorwyn.

"There was no crack," she grumbled, and Ein laughed only louder.

"How can you be sure? You were preoccupied with finishing me up!"

"How can that be?!" Kili looked behind him over his shoulder. "Fili, come here, you clot! I have the most astonishing—"

"Good afternoon, Master Eorwyn," the King's velvet voice rolled, and Eorwyn whipped her head to meet his brilliant blue eyes. He stood nearby, a wooden sparring sword in his left hand.

"My lord," she squeaked.

"It was Master Eorwyn who punched lord Ein in his face!" Kili announced.

"Oh?" the King said and looked at Eorwyn under his raised eyebrow. "Lord Ein?"

"Aye, _Zagru Khagal'abbad_ himself!" Kili pointed at Ein with both hands, his fingers splayed and palms up.

"Perhaps, you don't need my mentorship then," said Prince Fili who'd stepped closer to them a few seconds earlier.

"What does it mean, 'zagru khagal'abbad?'" Eorwyn carefully pronounced the tricky words in Khuzdul.

"The Supreme Sword of Ered Luin," Ein said with a chuckle. "A bit much, I have to say, but it does have a ring to it, don't you think?"

Eorwyn could feel the King's gaze on the side of her face.

"Not if you were defeated by an unarmed opponent half your size," Fili said in an acidic tone.

Ein seemed to take no offence and burst into a series of booming guffaws. "That's what I said! She cut me down and then— bam! An elbow right into the nose! I'm afraid my charm has been quite tarnished! I can't imagine any lady being interested in the ugly cripple like me now!"

He grinned roguishly and gave Eorwyn a wink.

"It's time we train," the King said quietly, and everyone started shifting and moving.

Fili and Kili headed to the weapon table, but Ein lingered.

"So, how are your hands and knees, Master Eorwyn?" he asked, looking her over warmly.

"I'm healing," she answered. The King's presence nearby made her tense for some reason, and she decided to choose her words wisely. "Thank you for your consideration."

"You're welcome," he answered sardonically. "These bandages look good. I compliment your... keeper." Eorwyn gave him a warning look, and he snorted. "Ah, right, I forgot. You don't have a keeper. You're a mighty warrior in your own right, and you're— How did you put it last night? 'No one's woman.'"

"That's not what I— You're twisting my words!" Eorwyn exclaimed.

Dwalin approached them, greeted her, and walked away, taking the King with him.

Ein leaned to her ear, making her throw him a surprised side glance.

"You'll have to forgive me, birdie," he whispered. "I just couldn't help it. I'm as curious as an Elf. Never can keep my nose out of everyone's business. It _is_ the King, innit?"

"What?! No!" Eorwyn choked on her words. "What I mean to say is 'what about the King?'"

"You're such an appalling liar, birdie!" He snickered. "I probably shouldn't spar with him. He'll break every bone in my body for this little feat of mine. But hey, what's life without some merrymaking!"

He saluted her and headed towards the sparring ring. Eorwyn opened her mouth to inquire into what he meant by 'merrymaking,' when Princess Dis approached her and led her to the benches by the wall.

* * *

"That is quite unusual," the Princess drew out watching the warriors gather in a small circle in the central ring to discuss something. "Normally my brother trains alone, or with Dwalin… Ah I see, they are all excited about lord Ein." She scoffed. "He's said to be the best swordsman among the Khazad. I have my doubts, I have to admit. I would rank my brother as the best, followed by my sons."

Eorwyn picked up a cup from the tray that had been placed in front of them on a low table. She pretended to drink while watching those training intently. More Dwarves sat on the benches around her and the Princess, some were clearly the kin of the training ones, some were here out of idle curiosity. She saw many point at Ein and whisper.

"I doubt he's as good as Thorin - and Dwalin for that matter!" the Princess said in a tense voice, her eyes glued to the men.

Eorwyn gave the Princess a quick look and confirmed that indeed there was frantic blush burning on the Dwarrow dame's cheeks. Eorwyn made a mental note to herself. And just to confirm her suspicions she saw lady Dis give lord Dwalin a greedy look over. He wore a thin tunic, open low on his chest, and the sleeves were rolled up, baring his tattooed forearms. Just as the King, he was dressed in tight trousers and light boots, the point of which was probably easier movement. When training, Eorwyn was told to wear her light shoes as well. She only had two pairs, so she had little choice. And then she remembered the King's demand the night before - for her to buy herself new shoes - and she smiled at her memories. His consideration and patience the night before had left her feeling cherished and utterly fortunate.

"Look, they are finally starting!" The Princess' voice shook Eorwyn out of her thoughts. "Oh, they are all mad about that Ein fellow. I was hoping we'd see Kili and Fili train instead."

Eorwyn made a disappointed hum and shook her head as if mournfully. She hadn't lied to the King before, she truly wasn't bothered by the Princess' potential matchmaking, as long as no one's feelings and honour were hurt or tarnished. She had chosen not to train with either of the King's sister-sons. She'd gone to the range with Prince Kili once, the day after the Games, but thankfully since she was no match for his skill, he'd quickly lost interest in it and had joined a small group of his acquaintances, which allowed Eorwyn to escape.

To think of it, perhaps the Princes training would have been preferred, considering that at the moment it was lord Ein who was stepping in the centre of the Grounds. He was warming up, twisting his body, a wooden training sword in each hand.

Fili was the first to face him. He seemed rather zealous, frowning in concentration.

"I'm sure Fili will show his worth now," the Princess said confidently. "They have the same fighting manner - with two wide and short swords."

The Princess was wrong. Fili was down on his back in just a few minutes. Their sparring hadn't looked like the training Eorwyn had observed during her visits to the grounds for her classes with Tyr.

"Oh, this shouldn't even be allowed!" The Princess flailed her hands in the air.

Eorwyn thought that Prince Fili couldn't condone the proceedings and the outcome of the match, since he had been the initiator of the manner it had taken - much more alike an actual fight than usual - but she kept her opinion to herself. Meanwhile, Prince Kili stepped forward. He had a much merrier approach to it. They sparred, lord Ein clearly being a more skilled swordsman - and it ended to mutual satisfaction, with Prince Kili splayed on the ground, on his stomach, laughing loudly. Handshakes were exchanged…

… and the King stepped forward, shimmying his shoulders, warming up his muscles, and slowly drawing circles with the single wooden sword he held in his hand.


	85. Fili's Terrible, Horrible, No Good Day

Fili sat down on the bench next to his Mother and huffed out in irritation. How could he have been such an idiot?! He should have slacked and just swung his swords about, like Kili had. He gritted his teeth and looked away from the ring.

The girl of Men was sitting near his Mother, her gaze intent on the fighters. Fili's thoughts returned to the conversation before the fight. How could it be possible that she'd managed to inflict such damage on that ginger buffoon while Fili hadn't even grazed him with a blade? Perhaps, it was some sort of sorcery, he suddenly thought, and then immediately threw this thought aside. That would be preposterous! But then again, he remembered, hadn't she… bewitched Thorin?! The old man had hardly been himself recently, to think of it! Fili was now recalling all the odd happenings of late: Thorin laughing loudly at dinner at something Kili had said, Thorin missing family meals, training more, recovering from his wounds faster. Fili squinted and gave the girl a suspicious look. Even if sorcery was indeed a ludicrous assumption… but perhaps there were some herbs? Fili had heard of them. Dwarves rarely required them, being agile and boisterous even in their dotage… but Thorin was, after all, two hundred years! And herbs would explain Thorin's gambol as well! Perhaps such were the concomitants!

Thorin stepped forward and twirled a training sword in his hand. Fili jeered internally that he hoped the herbs had enough effect to help Thorin! The King of Longbeards landing on his backside would be quite a humiliating spectacle, wouldn't it?

Lord Ein said something, grinning from ear to ear, too quietly for Fili to hear, and on contrary to Fili's expectations Thorin didn't look affronted. He threw some line back to the warrior, and both laughed.

"Oh I do not think this is wise," Fili's Mother muttered and turned to him. "Fili, if he'd taken you out so quickly, Thorin has no—"

The sound of the first blow rang through the Grounds, and Fili focused on the sparring. From the corner of his eye he could see the bookkeeper's hands fly up and cover her mouth.

Thorin and lord Ein started circling, clearly sizing each other up. Ein was at disadvantage here, to think of it. Thorin had just watched him fight two opponents, he'd be prepared for some of the swordsman moves.

And then Ein lunged ahead, low and sharply, in stark contrast to everything he'd done before! Thorin parried and immediately retreated. He smirked and shook his head. Fili knew this look! That was Thorin quickly reevaluating his strategy in a fight.

It quickly became clear that lord Ein was a more skilled and agile fighter. Thorin, on the other hand, had cunning. Unlike his opponent, he didn't try to flaunt his abilities, and he watched attentively and didn't move unnecessarily, measuring out his strength. The first round ended seemingly in a draw, and both fighters stepped to the side. Thorin drank water and exchanged a few words with Dwalin. Meanwhile, lord Ein sauntered to the bench where Fili sat, although he wasn't the one whom the Dwarf was interested in, it seemed.

"So, Master Eorwyn, how are you enjoying the spectacle?"

She gave the swordsman a dark look, which only made him chuckle louder.

"I'm afraid I don't know enough to understand who's winning," she said in a level tone.

"Ha, do you not, birdie?" He tilted his head and gave her an amused look.

If only the Dwarf knew whom he was addressing so freely, Fili thought. And if only Thorin knew how the Dwarf spoke to his betrothed!

"I wish you remembered, lord Ein," lady Dis said haughtily, "that it is your King you're sparring with. Injuring him would injure Erebor."

Lord Ein turned to the Princess and bowed respectfully. "Thank you for your faith in my abilities, my lady, but I assure you, lord Thorin is in no danger. It is I who should fear bruises and fractures. I'm only unscathed because he's going easy on me."

Lady Dis scoffed, but apparently even she couldn't resist the man's charm. He smiled at her radiantly, and she seemed to have softened.

"What happened to your nose, lord Ein?" she asked, the derision in her tone very much of a feigned nature now.

"Master Eorwyn attacked me," he deadpanned, and Fili's Mother whipped her head and stared at the girl.

"I wish you stopped exaggerating," the redhead muttered and gave him a stern glare.

He burst into gleeful laughter.

"What is it?" lady Dis asked looking between the two of them.

"It was a misunderstanding," the girl said and pinned the man down with another glare, which of course had no effect on him. "And then lord Ein slipped and hit his face."

"On Master Eorwyn's elbow," the Dwarf finished, and she sighed loudly. He continued his frolics. "You've managed what neither of the sons of Durin accomplished." He winked at her. "I just don't know why you wouldn't claim your victory, Master Eorwyn."

"You still have another round with King Thorin," she answered calmly. "You might still be defeated by a son of Durin. And besides, I have claimed my victory. Once I arrived at my destination last night, I was very much clear about what had happened."

Fili gave her a confused look, but her words seemed to make sense to lord Ein.

"Ah, good." He smiled at her, this time with genuine warmth. "No wonder I'm being treated… kindly." He saluted them with his sword. "I'll go back. My opponent seems to be impatient."

Thorin was indeed in the ring already. His face was unreadable - which, as Fili knew, meant trouble for lord Einar. That cold calculative focus was what made Thorin deadly. The second round started, and again they seemed to be on par. As seconds ticked away, it became obvious that Thorin would tire faster than his much younger opponent. For the time being, he was conserving his strength, but if he wanted to win, Fili thought, Thorin needed to hasten and make his move.

And then lord Ein stepped back and lowered his sword. "I yield," he said. He was breathing heavily.

Thorin lowered his sword as well. "You're winning, lord Ein," he said loudly and smiled.

"I don't think I am," lord Ein said with a vigorous shake of his orange head. "And to be honest I don't wish to find out for certain. I'm too vain for it."

The men shook their hands and parted.

"Clearly, he's only concerned with preserving his reputation," lady Dis sneered. "Makes one wonder if he deserves his title."

She rose and headed towards Thorin - or more likely, Dwalin, Fili thought. He could see the latter pick up a training axe and two squires were rolling out a dummy for the warrior to destroy. Dwalin destroyed every dummy he trained with. Most Dwarves were clever enough to consciously avoid the prospect. Perhaps, lord Ein should have tried him as a sparring partner!

When Fili looked behind him, he realised that the girl had slipped away and was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

That evening Thorin once again wasn't present at the family dinner. The meal was short, everything seemed to be in low spirits. Fili was feeling some odd aches in his joints, which he blamed on the intense training he'd taken after the fight with lord Ein. He was relieved when his Mother excused herself early. To think of it, she was the only one who'd been merry and lively through the evening. Fili dragged himself to his halls and fell into his bed.

He was woken up by loud banging into the back door of his chambers. He rolled off the bed, cursing the unknown visitor, plodded there, hissing from the coldness of the floor under his bare feet, and jerked the door open.

Dwalin stood in his door - in his breeches. Fili's jaw slacked at the view of the terrified, lost expression on the Dwarf's face. It was Dwalin, son of Fundin in front of Fili! He was incapable of any emotion besides rage!

"Your Mother!" the Dwarf roared. "She's ill!"

"What?" Fili croaked.

"She's— She's in pain and writhing, and— And retching!"

Fili considered slapping himself across the face, to wake himself from this bizarre dream - or slapping Dwalin, because the man seemed almost hysterical.

"Where?!"

"In my— In my chamber."


	86. Et Tu Brute

**_Well, you asked for a quick update, didn't you? ;) I can never say no to my readers._**

**_Love you all xx_**

**_K._**

* * *

_A few hours earlier…_

Two squires passed Thorin dragging a dummy for Dwalin who was drawing circles with his right arm, a training axe grasped in his fist. Thorin smirked. The dummy - and probably another three, knowing Dwalin - was doomed. Dis rushed to Thorin, and he sighed.

"_Nadad_, are you hurt?" she asked - without looking at him. Her gaze was glued to Dwalin's back.

Thorin chuckled and patted her shoulder. She was endlessly irritating, especially when she behaved like an enamoured youngling, but Thorin was in an exceptionally good mood this morning.

"Go ask Dwalin to go easy on lord Ein, would you?" he said cunningly. "He might be a tad 'het up,'" Thorin mimicked Dwalin's Blue Mountains accent.

Dis readily pranced where she'd been sent, and Thorin walked through a side passage into a small armoury attached to the Grounds. He was lost in his thoughts, pondering what weapon to choose next - when a small hand grasped his sleeve, and he was jerked into a small alcove in the passage. A familiar lithe body pressed into him, and he chuckled. That had been the second time in his life that a woman had thrown herself on him in a dark passage, and he had to say the second occasion was quite an improvement.

"That was so— So—" his little bookkeeper exhaled and greedily pressed her mouth to his.

His blood boiled up in an instant, and he jerked her into him, grabbing handfuls of her dress on her back. He then twirled them, slamming her back into the wall. She didn't seem to mind, her fingers gathering handfuls of his hair and pulling almost painfully.

He came to his senses a few moments later when he realised that his hand had just brushed at the bare skin on her thigh. Apparently, he'd bunched up her skirts and was rubbing his thumb to the lace on top of her stocking. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, and he slowly lowered her on the ground. She swayed.

"You aren't being too discrete, my heart," he murmured and leaned back to see her face.

Her eyes were half-lidded, dazed, and she licked her lips. She was, just he'd said that morning, ravishing.

"You're right." She cleared her throat, chasing away the rasp in her voice. "It was reckless… I don't know what came over me..." She blinked a couple times and cleared her throat again. "I've never seen you fight before."

Thorin felt even merrier.

"Is it so?" he murmured. "You're excited by a combat, my little hen?"

"No, not a combat." She shook her head. "You're just so—"

He saw her cheeks were starting to flame up in embarrassment.

"What?" he asked, enticing more compliments out of her. Her arousal, now coloured with bashfulness - and how her bosom heaved in the cut of her dress - delighted him.

"Fast. And strong. And— skilled, I suppose. That's what excites me," she said quietly. "Like you said you fancied that I was capable with numbers. You're capable with a sword."

"I almost lost," he said with a chuckle and kissed the tip of her nose.

"I know very little about swordsmanship," she said in that level tone of hers, and he smirked. She was so charming when she was being clever! "But what I gathered from the conversations in the Grounds," she said, "in a genuine combat your experience and cunning would defeat lord Ein's flair." She wrinkled her nose. "I didn't enjoy his… panache."

"He seems to enjoy yours," Thorin jested.

"I think he might have guessed about our association," she said. "Last night when we both recovered from our 'encounter,' he offered to escort me to the infirmary, and I refused. I said I was expected somewhere, and he guessed I had a lover."

"It hardly matters. There are so many rumours about me at this stage, one more can't possibly make me look less of a lecher."

She giggled. "Meanwhile, all your lechery is for me," she whispered and smiled widely.

Thorin hiked up one eyebrow, and she giggled again.

"Which reminds me," she said and picked up a clasp on the collar of his tunic. "If you're done with your training, it is my turn to inflict damage on your clothing."

Thorin laughed and shook his head. In normal circumstances he'd spar for another three hours. The alternative seemed more attractive, though.

"I'm done with my training," he said.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the alcove and into the passage leading to the Royal Halls.

* * *

Thorin woke up from loud banging into his door. He rolled on his side and rummaged in his covers. The bookkeeper was gone. All his palm met were the crumbs of their supper that they'd been eating in the bed and hadn't finished because she'd straddled him and started making those greedy little moans of hers. They'd pushed the empty plates and whatever was left on them onto the floor. She'd later prudently picked the food up and they'd finished whatever could have been salvaged, but now his sheets were full of bread and currants and other provisions.

Another loud knock came, and Thorin got off the bed with a groan. He was bare, so he had to find and pull on his breeches. It took a while - the breeches were on the other side of the bedchamber - so the third frantic knock rattled his door. Thorin felt a slight surprise. A King's door could hardly expect such treatment.

He heard some noise in the bath chamber and assumed his bookkeeper was there. She of course had heard the knocking as well, so he wasn't worried she'd show up to meet the visitor.

He opened the door and stared at Fili. The lad looked awful. He was leaning on the door frame and looked sick.

"Uncle—" Fili swallowed loudly. "We're all ill, Mother and Kili and myself."

"Ill how?" Thorin asked sharply, waking up completely.

"There's fever, and expelling..." Fili made an illustrative gesture. "I took Mother to the infirmary, she seems the worst. They'd told me there are a few more people in Erebor who are ill with the same. Must be something in the—"

Fili didn't finish, bent in half, and, as he said, 'expelled' onto Thorin's threshold. Thorin had managed to jump back just in time.

"Go to the infirmary, I'll be right there."

Fili nodded and straightened up with a moan.

"Will you be able to walk?" Thorin asked. "If you give me a jiffy, I'll just put on my trousers, and—"

"No, no it's alright," Fili dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I assume you aren't… alone."

"I'm not," Thorin answered.

"I'll send a servant to clean here, in a few minutes, so that your… guest can—" He halted, and his face twisted in a pained grimace.

"Go, lad," Thorin said softly. "I'll be there shortly."

Fili left, and Thorin hurried inside. He was pulling on his tunic and called to her.

"Kurdel, you can come out now! I need to leave, there's an emergency!"

There was no answer, and already fully dressed, he walked to the bath chamber and opened the door.

She half lay on the floor, her upper half drooping over a basin.

"I don't know what—" she moaned out and squeezed her eyes. "I'm so sorry, I tried to leave but I couldn't make it out before it started—" Her body convulsed.

He walked up to her quickly. She shook her head frantically.

"Don't come, you'll catch it from me," she tried to cry out, but her voice was coarse. "And it's so embarrassing— In front of you—"

A gurgling noise rolled in her throat. Thorin knelt near her and started gathering her hair.

"No, please, you shouldn't—"

A shudder ran through her, and she started vomiting again. He stroked her back between her shoulder blades.

"It's alright, kurdel."

She made a distressed noise and then started sliding on the floor. He supported her and sat her up.

"I'll get you water, and we need to tie your hair. But I need to leave now, my hen," he said and smiled at her softly. "All my kin are just as afflicted and are in the infirmary. I'll go see what's happening, and I'll be back in no time. Do you think you need to go to the infirmary?"

"No, no, I don't want to— I hate infirmaries. It must be something in the food, or—"

"That's what the healers think. Are you certain you can wait for me here?"

She nodded. He hated leaving her on her own in this state but it seemed he had no choice. He emptied the basin and rinsed it. She kept mumbling something in protest, but he shushed her. After braiding and clasping her hair with one of his copper rings, he put a pitcher of water and a cup near her, she'd refused to return to bed. He had almost left but then came back and threw a cover over her shoulders. She looked small and pitiful in a little heap on the floor of his bath chamber - but he promised to be back as soon as possible and left for the infirmary.

* * *

_**Shall we play the game, who's actually sick and who's... in an interesting condition? ;) Cast your votes, my lovelies! **_


	87. News and Expectations

Thorin walked into the infirmary and froze by the entrance doors. Healers rushed back and forth in front of him, carrying basins, sheets and towels, both clean and soiled. Even though Thorin wasn't unwell, nausea rose - from the smells and the view of retching Dwarves.

"Welcome to my domain," Matron Frotha said walking from around a screen, wiping her hands on a cloth. "And now, unless you're ill, my lord, I'll ask you to leave."

"I've come to see my kin," Thorin answered, and she smirked.

"Be my guest. But I'll have a cot prepared for you right away then. This _a'mâg_ is as if winged. You'll catch it in no time if you still haven't."

Thorin looked at the closest Dwarf curled in a ball on a cot, her face twisted in a pained grimace, and he took a step back.

"It's such a relief to know that we have a reasonable monarch," Matron Frotha drew out and cackled in her usual hag like manner. "No need to add any more patients for me. I have plenty."

"Does everyone who shows the signs of illness _have_ to be in the infirmary?" Thorin asked, thinking of the woman wilted on the floor of his bath chamber.

"We haven't had any deaths yet," Matron Frotha said nonchalantly. "But it's only been a few hours." She threw the cloth into the nearest wastebasket. "I'd say no. Let them relieve themselves as much as they want, give them water. If the fever persists for more than a day and a night, then I'd worry."

"And if— If the person isn't a Khuzd?" Thorin asked slowly.

The old woman threw him a look that was almost surprised, although just as sarcastic as always.

"Men are weaker. It usually takes less to end them. Let me know how the Man fairs in eight hours," she said, turned around, and marched away from him.

Thorin threw an irritated look at her back. A bit more explanation - and respectfulness - wouldn't go amiss.

* * *

He stepped out of the infirmary into the hallway - and almost jumped out of his skin when Balin addressed him, "Laddie?"

"Mahal help me, I'm no youngling to get startled like that," Thorin grumbled. "You'll give me apoplexy."

"I spoke to the healers, and I have news," Balin said in his usual dramatic tone. "We need to talk, and it can't wait."

Thorin sighed and beckoned the Dwarf to follow him. They walked to Thorin's private study, in his halls, and to Thorin's surprise, the old man said nothing on the way. It was an uncharacteristic lack of idle chatter, to think of it.

They walked in, and Thorin went straight for his desk and poured himself a generous drink of juniper water. He offered one to Balin by lifting the decanter, but Balin shook his head.

"Would you give me a few minutes?" Thorin asked after emptying the glass in one large gulp. "There's something—"

She was just three doors away from him, and he needed to know she was alright. The words of the Matron rang in his ears.

"I'm sorry, laddie, but it can't wait," Balin said mournfully and heavily sat in a chair.

"What's that? Is someone dying?" Thorin asked snappily.

"No, no one's dying, to my knowledge. It's… quite the opposite actually." Balin sighed loudly.

Thorin poured himself the second drink. He remained standing, not to give Balin the impression that the latter could dawdle.

"The illness afflicting Erebor seems to be some sort of belly flux, caused by spoilt food. They suspect it was mutton, served in the streets and during the festivities," Balin said, in the same morose tone.

Thorin couldn't see how this discussion wouldn't wait till later.

"Kili and Fili are afflicted but mildly. Out of our closest kin, Oin, Gloin, and Bifur seem to be suffering most… and Dis." Here, Balin emitted a sigh so long and loud that Thorin put down his glass with an audible thud. His patience was close to none at this stage.

"But you see, laddie, Dwalin came to me to inform me of your sister-sons and your sister falling ill, and I accompanied them to the infirmary, and—"

"Balin, if you don't get to the point right away—" Thorin growled.

"Lady Dis isn't… in actuality ill," Balin said and threw Thorin a cautious look. "I think it'll best come from me, and not from a person directly involved in the matter. So, you see, Dwalin was so bewildered that he couldn't quite manage a discussion with a healer, and the Princess was still in the throes of the flux, so it came to be that it was I—"

"Balin, there is a young woman retching in my halls, and if you don't stop making the runes dance, I'll—"

"Is lady Eorwyn afflicted as well?!" Balin exclaimed. "Oh I wonder if it might be— What if it's the same as the Princess— Oh laddie! But you see—"

"I _don't_ see, Balin!" Thorin roared. "You still haven't gotten around to telling me _anything_!"

"Your sister is expecting."

Thorin almost asked 'expecting what?' - and then he remembered the vomiting comparable to the fountains of Rivendell that Dis had done when pregnant with Fili. And the even more terrifying ones they'd observe shoot out of her when carrying Kili.

His mind worked fast, and then he poured himself another full glass and toppled it in his throat.

"Dwalin?" he asked.

"Dwalin," Balin answered dolefully.

Thorin gave it a thought, spat out the dirtiest swearing he knew in Khuzdul, and sat down in his chair.

"So, is lady Eorwyn possibly—" Balin asked, and Thorin jerked out of his dismal imaginings: of how difficult Dis was to become now, and how Dwalin would be out of sorts in this new role for him, and Fili, and Kili, and—

Thorin jumped to his feet.

"I'll be in my rooms," he said. "Send for me if anything new needs my attention."

Balin nodded. Their eyes met, and each of them shook his head.

"What a plight," Balin said, and Thorin couldn't help but chuckle.

"You don't say," he answered, and they exchanged another look.

And then Balin grinned and gave out a quiet chortle.

"Oh don't you start, old man," Thorin said, failing to suppress a smirk. "I'd rather fight a dragon all over."

He patted Balin's shoulder on his way out, and the Dwarf caught his hand.

"Send my regards to the lady," he said, and Thorin nodded.

* * *

He hurried through the passages, and the question 'what if' kept swirling in his mind.

She was in his bed, sleeping, and he saw that her hair was wet. She must have taken a bath. He walked into the bath chamber to undress and wash off, in case the Matron was right, and some of the flux had clung to him. He struggled with the desire to wake up his little hen to _ask - _but when he returned, he saw how peacefully she slept, and he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Thorin," she muttered, and her eyes slowly opened.

"How are you feeling, kurdel?" he asked tenderly.

"Much better. I've washed, and I washed your bath," she said and rubbed her eyes. "And then I think, a servant came and cleaned the parlour, but I hid in the bath chamber, so I can't be sure."

"It matters not. Are you still… ill? Are you feeling it had to do with food or—" He suddenly didn't know how to ask. "Is your body feeling— stronger?"

"Oh." She rounded her lips. "Why do you ask? Was there something— something you wanted?"

They stared at each, and then he understood.

"Mahal, kurdel, you overestimate my lustfulness," he said with a small laugh.

She'd probably blush if she wasn't so pale.

"It's just— Every night I've been here, we just kept on—" she trailed away. "But I have to say, I'm relieved. I feel so wretched that as much as I desire you, I don't think I could—" She bit into her bottom lip, and he stroked her hair.

"You should rest, kurdel. And so do I. I've had quite a night."

"How is your kin?" she asked and yawned. He could see she could hardly keep her eyes open.

"They are in the infirmary. Matron Frotha says the flux seems to be rather mild, there is little real danger, but—" He suddenly wanted to share with her the news of his sister, and he thought it would give him an excellent opportunity to lead the conversation onto her own condition…

… and then he saw she was fast asleep. He carefully touched her forehead. She didn't burn. Wouldn't she have fever if it was indeed an infectious disease? Again, he had half a mind to shake her, wake her up, and inquire - and again, he took pity on her, shifted, and slid under the covers with her.

* * *

He slept without dreams, as he always did when he had worries or unanswered questions on his mind. He was awakened by his blood rushing down to his loins, just as every morning for the past fortnight - his nose full of the delicious smell of her skin and her perfume, her perk bottom pressed into his nether regions, and his arm around her lithe body. And then she shifted, groaned as if in pain, and rolled away from him. Her bare feet pitter pattered on the floor, and he caught but one glimpse of her disappearing in the bath chamber after he opened his eyes.

"Kurdel?" he called after her.

"I'll be— there in— in a jiffy," she shouted back in an oddly shrilly voice, and he thought he heard her curse quietly.

"What is it?" He sat up sharply. "Are you sick again?"

"No! No, it's just— Oh Maiar help me—" She made some more noises, and something clanked. "Could you throw my clothes here?" There was a small pause. "Without looking, please. Just throw them in here, and—"

He got off the bed and walked to the door. he could hear she was splashing water and opening cupboards.

"What's the matter, kurdel?"

"Don't come in!" she shrieked from behind the door.

"My heart, I've already seen you ill yesterday," he said softly. "I simply want to help."

"I'm not sick. I need— I need some cloth, perhaps some old sheets— some soft cloth." Her voice was distressed. "Oh Maiar help me, I'm not sure how to—"

She sounded endlessly upset, and he knocked on the door.

"Kurdel, why don't you just say it as it is? What's ailing you?"

"I'm bleeding," she said in a quiet miserable voice. "I don't know how much you know of such things, but women—"

"Do you mean your moon days?" he asked.

His heart sank. So... unlike his sister, his little hen was simply sick from eating spoilt mutton.

"Is that how Dwarves call these? Then I reckon, aye, I have my moon days."

"There are soft rugs in the basket under the basin," Thorin said. "I use them for bandaging training bruises. I don't know if they will—"

"They'll do," she interrupted hurriedly. "Thank you," she added in an embarrassed squeak.

Thorin silently turned around and walked back to the back. The disappointment churned his insides, in acute ache. He picked up her clothes from the floor, walked back, and passed them to her through the tiny crack she'd made.

After a few minutes she came out, still looking bashful, but put together. She'd brushed her hair, braided it, and was fully dressed. Even the bodice of her dress was laced tightly and neatly.

"How is your kin feeling? I'm sorry, I think I must have fallen asleep before you answered me last night."

"They will be well in no time," he answered darkly. "Which reminds me, I need to go see how it is going in the infirmary." He got up and started getting dressed quickly. He avoided looking at her. "I'll let Nyr know you will be needing a special breakfast, not to overtax your stomach."

"Thank you," she said, confusion in her voice.

He still couldn't look at her.

"I'll send you a note later," he said. "To let you know. And go to the infirmary if your sickness returns."

He buckled his belt and marched to the door.

"Thorin?" she asked in a small voice.

"I hope you get well soon," he said and walked out of the room.


	88. In a Strange Garret

When Eorwyn arrived at her rooms she found a parchment pinned to the entrance to the apartments. It was an announcement from the Erebor Infirmary that the "winter vomiting disease" was sweeping through the kingdom. People were told to stay in their dwelling and to avoid association with those whom they hadn't been in contact with in the past three days.

Eorwyn also found two notes pushed under her door. Master Svuir was ordering her to not come for her usual class under any circumstances. The second paper informed her that no correspondence was to be held with the city of Men since the messengers of Erebor were advised to remain in their houses with their immediate families.

For the first time in her life, Eorwyn had nothing to do.

She walked into her bedroom, changed into clean clothes, sat on the chair near her table… and stared at the wall. She'd returned her books to the Erebor Library just the previous day. She had no ledgers in her room, because she had been expected in Master Svuir's study that day. She'd just eaten, and she didn't feel sleepy, although somewhat weakened.

After a few minutes she couldn't stand this idleness anymore and started cleaning her room. She had hardly any belongings: just a small chest of clothes with three out of her four dresses, her cloak, a few undergarments, which she'd purchased more of recently, since she wasn't the only person to look at them these days, her two pairs of shoes and her boots; a much bigger chest with her writing utensils and parchments; her bow and arrows; her sack, and her travelling bag, currently containing her soaps and oils. Her room was utterly bare, nothing was unpacked since she'd moved from the Apprentices Halls. There was dust everywhere, which she cleaned in just a few minutes. She had a plate, a mug, and a spoon, and a basin to wash them in, but they hadn't been used since the move either. She wasn't sure whether she could request any hot water from the apartments' kitchens, so she washed the floors with cold water she had sitting in the small barrel in her bath chamber. She felt immediately exhausted and sat on a low wooden stool, the only piece of furniture besides a small sitting tub.

She looked down at her hands and decided that perhaps she could trim her nails. Nothing else came to mind. She had a small knife and a thin emery stick she used to tend to her quills, but she'd heard Nis and Ada discussing filing one's nails with it. A few days ago she'd noticed scratches on the King's shoulders and to her shame she'd realised she'd been the one inflicting them.

She was busy trying to shape the edge of her left index finger into a pleasant arch - which proved to be almost impossible, considering how disobedient her hands were these days - when she heard some soft scratching outside her door. It sounded so similar to the noise the tool in her hand was making that Eorwyn threw it a suspicious look. The scratching repeated. She got up, walked to the door, and opened it.

Outside her room there was a cat. It was a massive, portly beast, black like soot, with one large white spot around its right eye.

"Hello," Eorwyn said in a lost voice.

The cat walked by her into her room and started inspecting it. Eorwyn followed its movement with her eyes in bewilderment. She was completely at loss about what she was supposed to do or think. She half closed the door assuming the cat would want to leave and turned to her visitor.

Erebor was full of cats, she knew that much. There were rats and snakes threatening to invade the kingdom at all times, and cats thrived in its caverns. They were treated with respect, fed generously, and allowed to wander wherever they desired. Eorwyn remembered asking her friends during her first months in the Mountain what the little crates of sand were for, filling seemingly every corner of Erebor passages. She also often wondered who cleaned those sand boxes, considering there was no nasty smell coming from them.

"So, Master Cat..." Eorwyn drew out gingerly. She'd never interacted with a feline before.

The animal suddenly leaped on her table, making her jump up, and started sniffing her plate and utensils.

"Um… I have no food here," she muttered, feeling rather dim, since surely the beast couldn't understand her.

The cat twitched its whiskers, jumped down, first onto the chair, then the floor, and walked up to her bed. It was on it in an instant and started sinking its claws into the covers and pulling up its paw, one after another in turn. It continued this odd behaviour for a few seconds, then lay down, curling into a ball, and sighed contentedly.

"But— You aren't staying here, are you?" Eorwyn said. "I have no food here, and no place for you to—"

There was no answer of course. She looked at the door - and closed it after a small pause. After all, if the beast managed to grant itself access inside, surely it would let Eorwyn know when it wanted to leave.

She came up to the bed and then carefully sat on its edge. She was feeling taxed now, her knees were starting to shake. She needed rest, but the cat was occupying the very middle of her bed. Thankfully, she was so slender and the Dwarven beds were so wide that she managed to tuck herself on one side. She gingerly tugged at her cover and pulled its corner over her feet without disturbing the beast.

"I hope you didn't bring any fleas with you, Master Cat," she muttered.

It opened one yellow eyes, peered at her, and then went back to sleep. Eorwyn yawned, put out her candle, and followed the beast's example.

* * *

She must have slept for many hours, because when a quiet knock to her door woke her up, she immediately noticed how hungry and thirsty she was. She was now fully lying under her covers, on her side, and the cat slept pressed into her stomach, its body warm and comforting.

Eorwyn slid off the bed and walked through the bed chamber and the small anteroom, up to the entrance door. She opened it but there was no one there. She then noticed another parchment pinned to it. It said that the same rules of conduct were still in effect, as well as the communal kitchens were to be closed as of two hours ago. Eorwyn sighed. It meant she had to go without food. It was unfortunate, but hardly scared her: she'd had a big breakfast and she had plenty of water to drink; and after all, up until this past year she'd never eaten to satiety and often had to go on a slice of old bread a day.

She returned into her room and lit up the candle. The cat lifted its head and gave her an attentive look.

"If you're hoping for dinner, I don't have any, Master Cat," Eorwyn said. "You'll have better luck trying to find a mouse in the passages."

The cat yawned, showing her the whole inside of its toothy muzzle, with its sharp white teeth, and jumped off the bed and came up to her. It started rubbing its silky sturdy body to her bare calves, and Eorwyn tsk-tsked.

"Even I know that you aren't being cuddlesome, you're just hoping to be fed," she said but bent down and scratched the cat's nape.

It purred and doubled its caresses. Eorwyn smiled at the cat. The animal's fur was glossy and thick, and its heavy build and stubborn round head reminded her of a certain Dwarf. She giggled, but then remembered the earlier events and sighed. It had been such an unfortunate morning!

And then another knock came to the door.

"Well, let's see, Master Cat, maybe it's a courier, giving out free rats and fish," she said with a chuckle, straightened up, and walked to the door.

The cat followed and stopped near her ankle, watching the door attentively.

There was no courier, rats, or fish outside the door. A Dwarf stood there, in a dark cloak, its hood pulled low on their face. And then they lifted their face, and Eorwyn stared at the familiar blue eyes. King Under the Mountain stepped into her room, his hand lay on her shoulder, gently pushing her inside, and she made a stumbling step backwards. He closed the door behind him and pushed the hood off his head.


	89. Three in Bed

**Author's Note:**

**I have to say, writing this chapter was an exceptionally interesting experience, so I decided I'd share it with you. In all my 'writing career' it had only happened a few times, where I'd write a chapter and have a clear understanding of what the narrator felt, and what the other party thought and how they reacted internally (i.e. Thorin saying something, and Wren interpreting it, and vice versus)... and then find out in your comments that most of you read it in a completely different way! :D I had to actually sit down and give it a thought whether perhaps there was something I was missing. I did end up leaving the chapter below unchanged - and I'm really curious what you think about it. Let me know in the comments!**

**And yes, cats do tend to plop down in the most inconvenient places :) Funny story, one of my two cats is called Wren... and I wasn't the one who named her! We adopted her from a shelter where she was recovering after having kittens. And we took the runt as well. Her name is Schmoopy. So, I have plenty of material to base Master Cat on. Maybe, Eorwyn should keep him :)**

**Love xx**

**Katya**

* * *

Eorwyn watched the King lift his hand, and she stared at the basket he held in it.

"Evening," he said grumpily. "I reckon you've had no dinner."

She shook her head. A loud meow came from below, and both Eorwyn and the King looked down.

"I see you have a guest," the King said, and Eorwyn giggled.

"It just came in, in the afternoon. It's been sleeping with me," she said and finally took the basket out of his hand. "Thank you. What time is it?"

"It's past the eleventh bell." He gave her a long look, she couldn't quite understand the emotion behind it. "May I stay?"

"Stay? As opposed to—" She suddenly realised that he was in her room! "How did you manage to sneak here?" He couldn't have walked openly, and as much as he had been hidden under the hood, surely he would have been recognised if someone had seen him!

"It's my Mountain," he answered in the same grumpy tone. "I know all the hidden ways. So, may I stay?"

Eorwyn once again gawked at him. "As opposed to bringing me food… and leaving?"

"Aye."

He gave her an expectant look, and she stepped aside and invited him to walk in with a wide gesture of her free hand. The basket was heavy, and she carried it to the table with difficulty. She tried to lift it, but her arms wavered. He was near her instantly and helped her. Inside she saw many parcels and jars, and a bottle of cider. She recognised Nyr's customary knots and folds.

The King stood, still wrapped in his cloak, and was studying her room. She felt immediately embarrassed by its bareness and meagerness.

"Have you eaten?" she asked, hoping he'd turn and stopped looking at her pitiful belongings.

The cat jumped on the table and stuck its face into the basket.

"Master Cat!" Eorwyn exclaimed.

She considered pushing it away, but felt apprehensive. She'd seen its claws when it had been doing its odd dance on her covers. She wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of its possible displeasure.

The King picked up the cat, Eorwyn gasped - but the animal simply lay down in his arms, stretching, looking immediately gratified, as much as Eorwyn could decipher its expressions. The King scratched the big head, and the beast purred loudly.

"I've already eaten, so you should start without me," he said and walked to her bed. He sat down, and the cat curled on his lap.

Eorwyn opened the first package, saw some bread, and her stomach made a loud rumbling noise. The King raised one eyebrow, and she felt even more bashful. Altogether, having him in her room was… unnerving. She sat at the table and put a few slices of cold meat, bread, and a couple of pieces of her favourite pickled patty pan on her plate. The King was sitting, scratching the cat, his eyes down on the animal. Eorwyn opened her mouth to say something, found no words, and started eating. She wanted to know of what was going on outside her rooms, and whether his kin were well, but somehow she just couldn't break the silence.

"My sister is with child," the King said quietly, and a piece of roasted beef fell out of Eorwyn's fingers. He looked up, and again she could see he was emotional but couldn't quite discern the feeling splashing in his brilliant eyes. "She is not actually ill, like others."

"How are the others? Who else is ill?" Eorwyn asked and realised she was speaking with her mouth full. She swallowed hastily. "Wait, lady Dis is— It's lord Dwalin's isn't?"

The King nodded and went back to petting the cat. Eorwyn wiped her hands and leaned back in her chair.

"Oh Maiar, that's quite— Will they marry now? It's not anything… improper after all," Eorwyn started musing. "Unless he wasn't— But he's a Dwarf, and she— which means they'd done it conscientiously, knowing it could happen. Oh my, a baby!" She shook her head still trying to wrap her mind around it.

The King said nothing, and Eorwyn tilted her head and tried to look into his face.

"Is there something wrong? Are you— against it? I understand it's not quite the proper way of doing it, but after all, we are no better." She giggled, but then saw his face was dark. "Thorin?"

"Fili and Kili are better already, and there have been no deaths. Some are burning, but healers are hopeful. As for Dis—"

He cleared his throat. She could see him run his fingers through the fur of the beast, still avoiding to look at her. He'd behaved the same in the morning, it suddenly dawned on her! She's assumed then he was worried for his kin - and perhaps, somewhat aggravated by her troubles with bleeding - but she was starting to think there was more. The latter she had been unconcerned by and even felt grateful: among Men there was no admitting or discussing of such matters; they were shameful and dirty; and the fact that he knew of such days and even had offered her a solution for her predicament was an immeasurable and unexpected relief. The former had been even less of a surprise.

"Thorin, is there something bothering you?" she asked softly.

"No, of course—" he started and then lifted his face. His thick dark brows were drawn together, and she could see a hard line of his pressed lips. "Aye, there is. Last night, I thought you could be with child as well. After Balin told me of Dis. And in the morning—"

"Oh," Eorwyn exhaled.

She bit into her bottom lip trying to gather her thoughts. She had been hoping, of course, but sort of rather absentmindedly. There had been so many other preoccupations! There had been the offer from Master Svuir, and Mistress Algun, and then they'd had their row, and lady Dis was trying to marry her out to Kili, and then Fili had caught them! Of course, she'd felt a prick of disappointment this morning, but she'd also been sick, and worried for the people of Erebor, and… they were still hiding their betrothal, and a child would make everything only more complicated!

"You were disappointed," she said in a low voice.

"Aye, I was," he answered, and she saw muscles move on his tense jaw. "The first night you came to me, the first night we lay together, you said you wanted a child. And I couldn't give it to you."

"What? No!"

Eorwyn gasped, and then she jumped to her feet and rushed to him. She sat down on the bed near him, and because he was still looking away, she gently cupped his face and turned it to him.

"Thorin, no, that's not— That is not how it is at all! I didn't _ask_ for a child. I will be happy when it comes, but— And it's not just up to you and your… abilities!"

He finally met her gaze, and she felt pity flood her heart. He looked angry and pained, and she thought she could see unassurance hiding in his eyes.

"Neither of us did anything wrong! And it's not as if we _tried_ to plant the seed!" she insisted.

"We've had congress for the past two weeks, every night. There isn't much more we _can_ try," he said sharply.

"Of course there is!" Eorwyn exclaimed. "We can start again every night after my bleeding is over. This was my first month of ever laying with a man. Perhaps, we missed the right time. If we decide to do it, I could go to a healer and inquire. But, Thorin..." She cupped his face with both her hands now. "I kept the possibility of a child in my mind, and I'll be joyous when it comes, but— For now, I just want to enjoy our union without—"

His brows drew together again, but this time in pensiveness.

"I just want to enjoy being with you," she whispered. "And I don't know much about it, but I always thought it happens when it happens. Given you have to make a bit of an effort, of course," she said with a small smile, and his face finally relaxed.

"I've made an effort, but—"

"_We_'ve made an effort," she corrected him. "It's not a swording contest you're trying to win, my love," she joked softly. He chuckled, and she gave him a warm pointed look. "And you can't feel you lost a contest if there was none." She kissed his lips quickly. "And you will have to accept now that if you look at it as a race… you've already lost to Dwalin."

He gave her a sardonic look, but the corners of his lips twitched in a smile.

"Don't remind me. You weren't around when she was carrying my sister-sons. She was… worse than an Orc," he grumbled, good-naturedly this time.

"See? Perhaps, I will be even more disagreeable when expecting," Eorwyn sing-songed. "Why would you rush this?"

"You won't. I can't imagine you throwing dishes in my head," he said pointedly.

"You never know! Women change when they're in a family way. I might throw things at you. Or demand jewellery. Or ask for some odd foods. Or—"

He carefully took the cat off, put it on the bed near him - receiving a disgruntled 'mrrr' from the animal - and then grabbed her and pulled her on his lap.

"I'll get you any food, and buy you all the jewellery, and you can throw anything at me," he murmured and slowly brushed his lips to hers. "And you'll be all round and plump..." His hand lay on her stomach, and the heat from his palm seeped through the fabric of her dress. "And pouting just like you're right now."

"Don't say I didn't warn you when a mug flies your way then," she jested.

He twisted his neck and placed a scorching kiss on the side of her neck. A wave of desire ran through her - and immediately pain slashed across her low abdomen. She'd forgotten about her state during their conversation, but tensing her muscles inside hadn't been wise. He noticed her cringe.

"Are you in pain, kurdel?" he asked, and she nodded, slowly exhaling through rounded lips.

"If anything, not going through this for nine months would make carrying a child a bliss already," she muttered.

She sighed and relaxed into his embrace. The warmth of his body and the smell of his skin seemed to make the discomfort ebb. He wrapped his arms around her.

"I've just gotten used to being with you," she said quietly. "And then it turned out we wouldn't be announcing our betrothal yet. I don't want to prevent it in any way, but you have to agree, conceiving a child right now would complicate matters."

"It would change things, but then we would just announce it and marry immediately," he said. His fingers were now running through her hair, and she wanted to purr just like the cat. "It wouldn't be a complication. If anything, we would have a clear path to follow."

"And we will if it happens next month," she said and yawned.

"You haven't finished your dinner, my heart," he said and kissed her temple.

"I want to eat, but also—" Another yawn overtook her. "But I'm also sleepy. Will you— Will you stay the night? My bed is very small, but we aren't breaking any rules. We've been in contact in the last three days..."

"Repeatedly," he said with a chuckle. "I can stay."

Eorwyn remembered that she needed to change the lining of her bloomers, and slid off his lap with a sigh.

"I'll be right back," she said and looked back at him.

He'd taken off his cloak and was unbuttoning his doublet. The cat sat up and was seemingly waiting for the King to finish and lie down.

"I think we might have a third party in bed with us tonight," the King said seeing where she was looking,

"I don't understand what it wants here," Eorwyn said.

"They just come and go. I had three in my bedroom when I was a child." He scratched the animal's forehead, and it hopped up on its front paws pushing its head up into his palm. "This one seems to be rather affectionate."

Eorwyn shook her head and left to change. When she came back, the King was half-sitting, half-lying, leaning against the headboard. The cat had settled on his stomach, facing him, its eyes squinted.

"That's my spot," Eorwyn grumbled.

"Do you wish me to sleep on the other side?" the King asked.

"I was talking to the cat," she said, slid under the blanket, and pressed into his side.

He laughed softly.

"I've never slept in a maiden's bed before," he said after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

"And how does it feel?" Eorwyn asked sleepily.

"Cold," he said. "You have an appalling blanket. And you need a new mattress."

"I'll just sleep in yours," she said and nuzzled him.

He shifted lower on the bed, the cat got off his chest and curled into a ball on the pillow near the King's head. He pulled Eorwyn closer and kissed the crown of her head.

"Sleep, my heart."


	90. Work and No Play

**Please, don't miss the author's note at the end of the chapter.**

**Memo, thank you for checking in on me. That's so kind of you! I'm alright. It's the end of a school year, which means my homeschooling efforts have become quite intense. My kid is finishing 4th grade, and unlike him, I struggle with French grammar and algebra :D But it's almost done, and next week I'll be able to go back my usual frequent updates.**

**Thank you everyone for reading! If you feel like connecting on my other sites or checking out my blog, read the note after the chapter.**

**Love you all!**

**Katya xx**

* * *

Thorin opened his eyes and looked at the woman sleeping near him. She had her right hand curled into a fist, tucked under her cheek. She lay facing him, her left arm across his chest. He smiled. She was charming in her slumber, soft and warm… kindred. He closed his eyes, but no sleep came. He thought of Dis and Dwalin, and of what was to be done in the dawning day, in the infirmary, and regarding the contracts for the Winter supply of salt coming from the South.

His little hen stirred in her sleep, and moved closer to him. Her leg bent and wrapped around his. She was lustful in the mornings, he knew that about her. Pity, they could do nothing. She'd complained of aches the night before. Young male Dwarves were educated on the workings of female bodies. Healers were invited to them around the time of coming of age, so that when grown they made helpful and understanding partners to their women. Thorin sighed and returned his mind to state matters - and the question of another sister-son or sister-daughter he was to obtain soon. He chuckled without opening his eyes.

Loud knocking to the door shook him out of his musings whether Dis would now become even more of an annoyance. The bookkeeper muttered something in her sleep - he thought he head Nyr's name in it - and squeezed him tightly.

"My heart, it's _your_ door they're knocking to," Thorin said.

She didn't answer and rubbed her nose to his shoulder.

"You don't want me to answer it, little hen," he whispered with a chuckle, and she moaned and frowned.

"Eorwyn! It's me, Nis! I need to come in!" a loud voice rang behind two doors, and Thorin braced himself.

The entrance door opened - Thorin sat up in the bed, carefully taking the limp body of his beloved off him - and then steps approached - Thorin crossed his arms on his chest - and then the bedroom door opened as well. Thorin tilted his head and gave the visitor a polite smile.

She shrieked. He'd of course expected a reaction - but the maiden stumbling backwards, making loud 'a-ah' and 'o-oh' noises, and pressing her hand to her bosom was an entertainment most delicious.

"What is it?" Eorwyn grumbled in the most irked tone, sat up, and rubbed her eyes. "Oh no..." she exhaled, staring at her friend.

"By Mahal's beard," the Dwarven maiden exhaled.

"Indeed," Thorin said with a chuckle. "You should always wait to be invited, my lady. Mahal knows what you could find in other's bedrooms."

"Oh by Mahal's beard," the girl muttered again and fell out of the room backwards. The door closed behind her with a bang.

The small fist of his lover punched into Thorin's shoulder.

"Why did you do this?!" she hissed - and he guffawed.

"Is this the friend you'd mentioned didn't approve of our association?" he asked and looked at her.

She was disheveled, looked furious - and endlessly tempting. He once again lamented her 'moon days.'

"Why did you invite her?!" She punched him again, and he dove and tried to kiss her delicious lips. She winced away, still glaring at him.

"I didn't," he said with another laugh. "She just came in."

"You're half bare!" she continued chastising him. "And we aren't formally betrothed or wed!"

"I didn't invite her, she just came," he repeated, shaking in frolics. He then shrugged dramatically, lifting his hand high. "Don't blame me. Also, I think she's probably still in the anteroom. You should talk to her."

She emitted an irritated 'urgh' noise, hopped off the bed, and pitter-pattered out of the room. He ogled the perk round bottom and then slid down under the covers. The cat, curled in the ball near his feet, hadn't even twitched through the whole commotion.

His little hen, feathers ruffled and face irked, was back in a few minutes. She stopped near the bed and pressed her fists into her hips. He gave her an innocent look. He fancied her when she was being temperamental.

"Nis worried I was ailing, since I'd attended the Royal Family dinner and had had that mutton. She was being an excellent friend! She didn't need to be subjected to… this!" She pointed at his chest with an open palm.

"If memory serves me right, you'd once said that all women would turn green over you having me for your lover. Perhaps, she'll now replace her reproach... with envy," he said, chortling.

She made a 'pfft' noise and narrowed her eyes at him.

"Come, my heart," he murmured, stretching her hand to her.

"No, I need to wash and to dress, and it's morning already. You need to sneak up out of my halls before other residents of the apartments awake," she said, giving him a stubborn look.

"Are you kicking me out of your bed, little hen?" he asked and crossed his legs at the ankles. He put his hands on his stomach and shimmied his shoulders as if settling on her bed more comfortably.

"How can I? It is _your_ bed to think of it, as is everything in this mountain, my _king_," she drew out in a sardonic tone.

"Excellent," he said and smirked. "And now come back to my bed." He stretched his hand to her again, and she lifted one eyebrow.

"I will have to refuse this courteous... 'invitation,'" she said. "I have matters to attend. Are you staying here, my lord?"

"I think I might," he said and closed his eyes.

Something soft but hefty hit his face, and his eyes flew open. The woman had just thrown a pillow into his head! He watched her disappear in the small closet that served her as a bath chamber, and he guffawed. He could hear her pour water into a tub, and he sighed wistfully. Sharing the bath with his little bookkeeper would have been such a delight!

"You still can't go anywhere today, my heart," he shouted to her. "Everyone is advised to stay in their rooms. So, in actuality you don't have any matters to attend."

He did, on the other hand: he needed to visit the infirmary, to discuss the possible pandemic with the healers, and also to talk to Dis and Dwalin. He'd rather listen to Matron Frotha's jeerring times over than the former. It would have been so much easier to have a wife and to delegate such matters to her!

And then his little hen stepped out of the bath chamber, her hair wet and tied in a simple braid, only an undertunic, bloomers, and some sort of a soft white skirt on her. She looked irked.

"I have no books here," she grumbled. "All my work is in Master Svuir's study. What am I to do all day?"

And that's when an excellent idea came to Thorin's mind.

"Get dressed, my heart. I have work for you."

"You just said I can't go anywhere," she continued to squabble.

He smirked. "You can be around me, because we've spent the past few days together. Everyone knows that." He shrugged.

She perked up. "Is this work you speak of some sort of calculations?" She sounded hopeful.

Thorin snorted.

"Not exactly."

* * *

"I can't say I had anything of the sort in my mind when you said you had _work _for me," she said and looked down at the wooden sword he'd placed in her hands.

"I need to spar, my heart," he whispered into her ear. "Or I'll grow fat and docile. Dwalin is now unavailable for me, so you'll have to do."

She looked at him skeptically.

"You could use a dummy," she grumbled. She still held the weapon in her hand like a tray, on two open palms.

"Dummies don't move," he said and shrugged off his doublet and threw it on the bench. "It's alright. I promise to treat you better than a dummy."

She glared at him and gingerly picked up the hilt. Her fingers slowly closed around it, and she sighed.

"I think you might be doing it simply to embarrass me," she said. "I'm lucky there is no one here to see it, but I bet you just want to land me on my backside."

"That would be cruel," he said and smirked. "And wasteful. Who in their sane mind would want to bruise such a delicious backside?"

Her nostrils flared, and she carefully swirled the sword, warming her wrist, clearly following the teachings of her mentor. And then she lunged ahead, low and swift - and the tip of the wooden blade pressed into his chest, exactly in the spot where it would inflict most damage if they were in a proper combat.

"Buh!" he exclaimed in admiration. "That was a move most excellent!"

She lowered the weapon and smiled.

"Well, it was rather dishonourable, we haven't started," she said, but he could see a pleased blush on her cheekbones. "But I wouldn't have gotten another chance. Just to come close to you, I have to take you by surprise - and I bet it would only work once."

"Nonetheless, your technique is very good," he complimented. "I assume you'd do even better in trousers. Your skirt is restricting your movement."

"I have no trousers for training," she said and looked down at her dress. "But perhaps I could purchase a pair, like the ones Lady Dis wears to her sparring."

Thorin imagined her legs and her bottom in the traditional leather trousers - taut and glossy - and licked his lips.

"Watch out, my lord," a voice came from a side entrance to the Minor Grounds. "You don't want to risk to engage such a deadly opponent."

Thorin turned and saw Lord Ein enter the Grounds. He carried a set of his own training swords: a pair of wooden blades.

"Would you care for a rematch?" the Dwarf asked.

"Gladly," Thorin answered, and the swordsman laughed.

"I was addressing Master Eorwyn, my lord. But you can have a piece of me, if there is still life in me after Master Eorwyn is done."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**My darlings, since life is (somewhat) going back to normal (what even is normal?) in the glorious land of Manitoba where I live, I'm going back to work next week. Which is good news for my writing! Instead of homeschooling my kid and obsessively weeding my garden, I'm hoping to write and regularly update my stories here and on Wattpad, and start the publishing process for my next book on Kindle. (The modern light stuff I write on Wattpad dot com is basically modern Thorin and Eorwyn, so you might want to peek into my page there ;). It's free, just as my stories here) ****If you're interested in my writing,**** please, follow my Author Facebook page (the name is Katya Kolmakov - Author). If you're generally curious about me, you can peek into my blog: kolmakov dot ca. The blog has all my links, and I've just made a post on what's coming. Hope you stay connected!**

**Love, love you all!**

**K. xx**


	91. Apple Pies and Bad News

**Wow, this month and a half that I've been absent have been… FUN. And I mean in it in the most sarcastic way possible. First, I went back to work, and found out I had a dislocated joint in my shoulder and two groups of my shoulder muscles were strained and inflamed. I had that fixed - sloooowly and very, very painfully - and realised that I'd lost any ability to do 15K steps a day, lift toddlers, and clean high chairs and shelves, which is what my job responsibilities are. Then, I got an unexpected job offer in a different daycare (if you want to know more you can watch a video about it I've recorded for my Instagram (kkolmakov) or on my Writer Facebook page: Katya Kolmakov - Author.) So I quit, switched, went through intense training, and at the same time got accepted into the provincial educator certification program (I'd been trying to get in for the past three years), and then our new furniture, kitchen cabinets, and a dishwasher arrived, which had been ordered before the pandemic. And then I needed to submit my illustration for the project I'd agreed to participate in at the beginning of March. And my next book is available for pre-order on Amazon and will be released September 15th, which is great, but someone needs to edit it. See what I mean?**

**Anyway… where was I? Ah, right. So I'm back to writing. Somewhat. I only now have my full time job, my family, the kitchen renovations, my kid's soccer games, my certification program, my Wattpad, and my next Kindle to work on - but other than that, I have all the time in the world for my fanfiction.**

**But as little time as I have, I still NEED to write fanfiction. It's my only PURELY JOYFUL activity in life, it's my escape and my fun. My SELF-CARE! So onwards!**

**Love and hugs from a somewhat more functional me!**

**Cheers xx**

**K.**

* * *

Sparring with Ein, son of Finnar was immensely easier and more entertaining than any of the combat training Eorwyn had ever participated in. His clear instructions and his merry disposition made her learn faster - which Eorwyn valued above many other things - and feel better. She'd even forgotten about her physical discomfort, engaged and rejuvenated as she was.

"Excellent, Master Eorwyn," he complimented when she'd managed just the right step that he'd shown her a few minutes earlier. "You're a swift learner."

Eorwyn threw a look at the King over her shoulder and saw a pleased smile on his lips. He gave her one of his tilted nods, just a small, hardly noticeable one. Eorwyn blushed, flattered by his approval.

"Let me show you another move," lord Ein said and stepped closer to her.

While he was slowly moving his wrist, demonstrating, she had managed a good look at him. His hair was of the brightest orange, and if not for some sort of innate irresistible charm, he could seem almost unattractive: his mouth was too wide, and his eyes were set too close. And yet, when he smiled or talked, one couldn't help but fall under his spell. Eorwyn didn't - but after all, she was in love, and these were just early days of her affair. She once again glanced at the King who sat on a bench on the side of the grounds - and she shook her head slightly. No one could compare to Thorin, son of Thrain.

"... and then you grab the wrist, and—" Ein said, and Eorwyn suddenly vividly remembered this exact move executed by Prince Fili during the fight with the Orcs all those moons ago when she'd just become an accidental stowaway of the company of Thorin Oakenshield - and she grasped lord Ein's wrist and twisted her body.

He landed on his back with a loud 'ooph' sound - and burst into laughter.

"Absâs!" the King exclaimed behind them and clapped his hands. "Well done, _tablkasabê_!"

"Your King isn't too discrete, is he?" Ein laughed from the ground.

"Why?" Eorwyn asked and stretched her hand to help him up.

"He just called you his 'apple pie.'" The Dwarf chuckled, rising. "The moniker is usually reserved for a wifey."

"But you have guessed already, have you not?" Eorwyn said.

He leaned close and whispered, "He can't tear his eyes away from you. One needs to be blind or think him old to not see."

Eorwyn giggled. Ein shook his head and grinned at her.

"And that _was_ an excellent move, Master Eorwyn," he added. "I should say, you and I—"

He never got to finish the sentence because a new voice rang through the grounds.

"Ein!"

Mistress Algun was running across the arena. Always immaculately dressed and braided, she now appeared in a complete disarray: her hair bounced around her head in a disheveled mane of black curls, and she wore what seemed to be a cloak thrown over a night dress.

"They've been detained!" she screamed, running towards lord Ein.

His smile fell in front of Eorwyn's eyes, and he twirled on one spot.

"They've been— South of Baranzinbar, in the Mountains," Mistress Algun gasped out, and then her breathing caught, and she froze in front of the Dwarf, her eyes wide opened and panicked.

He grabbed her shoulder and peered in her face intently.

"All of them?!" he exclaimed, and she nodded frantically.

"Senna— Senna escaped, she's just arrived." Mistress Algun pressed her hands to her chest. "She said they're in that post, the garrison."

"Tirthin?" Ein asked, his voice trembling with tension.

The needlemaster nodded.

"Mistress Algun, to what do we owe the pleasure?" the King's low voice made all three of them turn to him sharply.

He stood, his arms crossed on his chest in his habitual gesture. Mistress Algun's lashes fluttered in a series of nervous blinks. Eorwyn wondered if the needlemaster simply hadn't noticed the King. She threw a quick look at the red haired Dwarf, and they seemed to have a sort of a short silent discussion with their eyes.

"You have to tell him," Ein said gravely.

"I don't know— perhaps, it's not the best way to—" the needlemaster muttered.

"We can't do anything ourselves, Algun," Ein said and shook his head.

Everyone seemed to have forgotten about Eorwyn, and she stood holding her breath trying to catch every word.

"I'm not used to being so blatantly ignored, Mistress Algun," the King said and stepped closer. "Out with it. What's going on?"

"The caravan— The women travelling to Erebor. They'd been detained in a garrison in Misty Mountains," Mistress Algun pronounced with difficulty. "It seems their plans had been revealed, and a company of the Dwarves from our clan had ventured from Erebor to stop them. Senna, my friend, is one of the women. She'd managed to slip away. She said they are expected to turn around and return to their home dwellings."

She threw a begging look at Ein. "Could you do nothing?"

"I've already tried, Algun," he said and then quickly glanced at the King. "I think you're appealing to the wrong Dwarf here."

"It's a clan matter," Algun said stubbornly.

"And I'm no Blacklock. My influence only goes as far, and you know, my family tapestry is rather short. It's my skill that gave me the title and the gold." Muscles danced on Ein's jaw. "And neither worked when it was time to annul Vis' betrothal—" He stopped himself and faced the King. "My lord—"

"You can't involve King Thorin, Ein!" the needlemaster interrupted. "We've already asked too much of him. Whether meddling in clan matters or not would be—"

"Something your King needs to decide himself," the King finished, making her close her mouth.

Mistress Algun pursed her lips stubbornly, but said nothing.

"What is the legal basis for the women to be forced to return to the West?" he asked.

"By the customs of our clan, they are to stay in the houses of their late husbands and betrothed, in their families."

"That is a _custom_," the King said. "What is the law?"

"A woman's life in the West isn't governed by the law," the needlemaster said darkly. "Their main concern is that they will find no vocation in Erebor if the clan Elders use their influence against them."

"They clearly have the support of others," the King said and pointed at Ein.

"It's their heraldic papers, my lord," the Dwarf said. "They can't request them without the Elders' permission. The plan had been for them to arrive and for the papers to be issued right away by a Dwarf - I can't divulge their name - who serves in the House of Arms, which would have meant the Elders couldn't annul them."

"Can't the papers be issued without the women's presence and simply brought to the garrison?" Eorwyn asked, leaning to the others, forgetting she hadn't been invited to join the conversation.

Mistress Algun whipped her head and stared at her as if Eorwyn suddenly turned into an Orc.

"Not without the seal of approval from a member of the Court of Exchequer," Ein said softly and gave Eorwyn a supportive smile.

"I have one," she blurted out and felt her cheeks flame up.

Three pairs of eyes fell on her intently.

"I do," she muttered, fighting an urge to run and hide from how bold she'd been. "I've officially completed my apprenticeship with Master Svuir a moon ago. I just continue going to classes with him because there is always something to learn, you know, and—"

She was interrupted by Mistress Algun who rushed to her and grabbed her hands.

"Master Eorwyn! I'm begging you—"

"I'll do it," Eorwyn immediately reassured the woman and squeezed her strong elegant fingers. "I'll do it. Let's get the papers and I'll seal them!"

"You'll have to travel to Misty Mountain since you'll have to witness your seal in person in front of the Elders of the Blacklock clan," the King said, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "Are you willing to do so, Master Eorwyn?"

"Aye, of course I am," she said.

"Well done, birdie!" Ein clapped his hands, grinning from ear to ear.

"Well, I suppose we're travelling to Misty Mountain then," the King said - and the swordsman, the needlemaster, and the bookkeeper gawked at him.

"_We_?" Algun repeated, echoing everyone's bewilderment.

The King smirked lopsidedly, and lord Ein laughed.

"But of course. One doesn't leave one's apple pie unattended," he said and gave Eorwyn a wink.


End file.
